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I 


THE CURSE 



OR, 

lie Test ef a Hiilrei Years. 


By ELSIE SNOW. 


Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883 , by Nor 
man L. Munro, in the office of the Librarian of 
Congress, at Washington, D. C. 



NORMAN L. MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

24 & 26 VANDEWATER ST, 



/ 

f 


THE CURSE 



OR, 

Tie Test of a Mflrol Years. 


By ELSIE SNOW. 


CHAPTER I. 

A FOREIGN LETTER. 

The family of Colonel Dangerfield consisted of three per. 
sons — Colonel Dangerfield, himself ; Miss Helen Dangerfield, 
his daughter, and Edgar Dangerfield, his son, and heir to 
his decaying fortunes. The Dangerfield mansion was the 
oldest dwelling-house in eastern New York. It had been 
built when the American republic was in its earliest infancy, 
and there was a legend which prophesied its fall, and the 
total destruction of the Dangerfields, when the mansion 
house should reach its hundredth year. There were those 
of the family who listened and believed, and others who 
smiled and were incredulous. The present head of the house 
was one of the skeptical ; but even Colonel Dangerfield could 
not shut his eyes to the troublesome fact that the fortunes of 
x-l jj family were at a very low ebb; and with a melancholy 
smile, he had once admitted that if the prophecy were to 
be taken figuratively instead of literally, he might yet join 
the ranks of those who believed in its fulfilment. It was a 
warm evening in spring ; the French windows of the long, 
wide parlor were open on to the old-fashioned veranda, and 
the perfume of a very fine cigar floated out and mingled 
with the odors of spring that floated in from the garden; 
the silver crescent of a new moon shone through the 
branches of a tall elm, whose leaves were already preparing 


2 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


to unfold in the warm, balmy air. Within the parlor was 
dark, but a murmur of voices that issued from it, as well as 
the fragrance of the cigar, informed you that it was not 
empty ; and occasionally a girlish form stepped out on the 
veranda, and leaning over it, looked down into the garden, 
and then up at the glimmering moon, then walked two or 
three times from end to end of the veranda, and with an 
unconscious sigh, returned to obscurity. On the last occa- 
sion when she did so, her father seized her little hand, and 
playfully shook it. 

“ Now, my sweet, wandering spirit,” he said, “ if you can 
be at rest for a few minutes, call for lights, and I will read 
you a letter that has arrived to-day from the fair Scot, 
Adelaide Urquhuart.” 

‘ ‘ A letter from Cousin Adelaide ! — oh, papa ! why didn't 
you say so sooner?” 

“Well, I couldn’t have done so much sooner, Nelly. I 
have only been home half an hour ; besides, I have been 
thinking over it — the contents are interesting. ” 

“ Oh, papa, dear, not another word till I come back,” and 
Miss Dangerfield flew from the room, returning almost in- 
stantly, bearing a pair of old-fashioned silver candlesticks, 
containing lighted wax candles. Colonel Dangerfield ab- 
horred the light and smell of kerosene, and modern im- 
provement in the form of gas had not penetrated to the 
Mansion House. 

Miss Dangerfield placed the two candlesticks on a small 
reading-table which she carried over to her father, and hav- 
ing arranged the lights as she knew he liked to have them, 
sat down on an ottoman at his feet, crossed her slender 
hands on her knee, and looked up, ready to absorb the cc t 
tents of the important letter. 

Colonel Dangerfield slowly unfolded a perfumed sheet of 
note-paper, and allowed his gaze to wander leisurely over it 
from the date to the signature ; and though Helen Danger- 
field trembled with eagerness and curiosity, she knew right 
well that she dared not interrupt her father, or hasten him 
by a look or word. 

She crossed her slender hands upon her lap, and bent her 
regards intently upon their delicate proportions, that she 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


3 


might thereby be enabled to wait in peace and patience till 
her father should please to unclose his lips. 

Very pretty she looked as she sat there, an image of re- 
strained impatience — with fair, sweet face, long lashes 
dropped over violet eyes and resting on a round and bloom- 
ing cheek. Her close-fitting dress of blue cashmere set off 
the girlish figure, and brought out the slight tint of gold in 
the light-brown hair. She looked like a good girl as well as 
a pretty one, and about the rosebud mouth there were lines 
of determination and will that would scarcely have been 
expected from her youth and girlish beauty. * 

Her brother surveyed her with lazy admiration, a smile 
about his lips and in his eyes as he gazed upon her. Edgar 
Dangerfield was regarded as a model of good looks by women 
— among whom his admirers were numerous. He had often 
been called a ‘ ‘ beautiful man,” and the adjective was chosen 
advisedly, for he was “beautiful” rather than “handsome, 1 * 
and although he was much admired by his own sex, too, it 
was in an artistic sense, and in terms used to describe a 
woman’s beauty rather than that of a man. 

His resemblance to Helen was strong, but his beauty was 
much more remarkable ; his hair, which was several shades 
lighter, clustered in short, silken curls about a head and 
brow that might have served as the model for an Adonis; 
his violet eyes were large, soft, and shaded by long, dark 
lashes, and his mouth was of almost cliild-like beauty, but 
it lacked the lines of firmness which could be traced about 
Helen’s — at times it looked petulant or scornful, and on rare 
occasions it wore a cold and cruel smile. 

But it would have taken a skilful physiognomist to have 
declared Edgar Dangerfield’s character from his face. It 
was, indeed, but a partially developed character as yet, and 
would always depend much on circumstances for the shape 
and hue it might take. It lacked force and firmness, and 
possessed considerable kindliness and some cowardice, 
which Edgar would have called conscience ; a love of ease 
and comfort, often degenerating into absolute selfishness, 
was his predominant feeling up to his present age, and 
whether the influences that circumstances might bring to 
bear on his character might develop this selfishness into a 


4 THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

passion or wholly weed it out, could only be determined by 
time. 

Briefly, taking into consideration his great good looks, his 
present tendencies, and the undeveloped state of his char- 
acter, Edgar might be justly considered a very dangerous 
young man. He was not so considered, however, and his 
young sister, for one, thought him an angel; Edgar was 
feeling no great interest in his cousin’s letter, but he began 
to tire of waiting for its contents ; however, he dared not, 
any more than Helen, hasten his father, and to avoid any 
temptation to do so he arose, sauntered on to the veranda, 
threw away the end of his cigar, and having stretched his 
graceful limbs, sauntered back again, and dropped his ele- 
gant person into an easy chair. 

“ How handsome he is!” thought Helen, as she looked at 
him with loving and admiring eyes. “I wonder what 
Adelaide is like — she used to be a pretty little girl — and 
then such a fortune — if they only should — how nice it would 
be!” 

A little sigh of longing escaped her, as she began already 
in her busy mind to weave a romance about her brother 
and the Scottish heiress. Colonel Dangerfield heard the sigh, 
and misconstruing its cause, he dropped his hand caressing- 
ly on the brown head beside his knee. 

“I’ll try your patience no longer, my little girl. Now, 
listen ; the letter is dated over two weeks ago, and your 
cousin is probably arrived by this time ; this is what she 
says: 

“Dear Uncle and Cousins, — I shall be your guest for 
the Centennial. I don’t wait to hear if I will be welcome, 
because I know that well enough. But don’t tell any one 
that I am coming, and please don’t let any one suspect that 
I am a great heiress — oh, how tired I am of being a great 
heiress ! though I have enjoyed the doubtful felicity but a 
few months. I would keep it a secret from you, uncle, dear, 
and my cousins, if you didn’t already know it. No, I would- 
n’t — forgive me for such a mean thought — but there, you 
see, that comes of being left a fortune so immense I don’t 
know what to do with it! It has made me suspicious of 
even my best friends — but I believe in you, and always shall. 


TEE CURSE OF DANQERFIELD. 


5 


It is a comfort to know that there is always one household 
where I will always find myself loved just the same as 
when I was a homeless, friendless orphan, and where my 
faults will be disapproved of, my naughtiness rebuked, and 
myself loved just the same as if I were not MissUrquhuart, 
the great heiress. I am all ready to start, and my trunks 
are packed ; but you needn’t look for me until at least a week 
after you get my letter, for my maid has left me to get mar- 
ried — such a trivial reason — but all my arguments were 
powerless to overcome it, and, of course, as I am going to 
travel without chaperonage, I must have another one, and 
my passage is taken in the vessel which sails ten days later 
than the vessel which carries out this letter. Dear uncle, I 
anticipate such genuine pleasure in finding myself once more 
one of your family. What a dear little girl Helen was, and 
what a lovely boy Edgar used to be when we were all child- 
ren together ! What are they like now? Of course I must 
wait till I see them to have my question answered. Not for 
worlds would I undertake to tell you what I am like — in- 
deed, for the past three months I have heard flattery enough 
to turn any woman’s head. I used to think myself a pretty 
girl when I was poor and of no account, but I have imbibed 
such a wholesome dread of the worship paid at the shrine 
of wealth that I don’t dare believe the one- tenth of the hom- 
age paid to me, and I have almost forgotten what I used to 
look like before I was an heiress. So don’t let your expecta- 
tions run too high for fear of disappointment ; and whatever 
I may look like, take me for what I am, and that is, your 
own, and always loving niece. 

“Dear Nelly — dear Edgar! I kiss you both, and long 
for the hour when I can feel your dear and loving arms 
about me ! 

“Adelaide.” 

“ The darling!” exclaimed Helen. “ She writes just like 
the dear and affectionate creature she used to be.” \ 

“A charming and L warm-hearted girl, evidently,” com- 
mented Colonel Dangerfield, as he folded up the letter, and 
returned it to his breast pocket. 

“|But what is all this she means about being a great 
heiress, father?” asked Edgar, “I didn’t know that Ade- 


6 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


laide had any money — poor child ! When I last heard of 
her, she was governess to a couple of ill-behaved brats in a 
French nobleman’s house. What has happened since?” 

“ It has happened to Adelaide to have a fortune of £500 - 
000 sterling left to her.” 

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Edgar, with an exulting 
throb of the heart that subsided into disappointment, how- 
ever, and it was with something of an effort that he sup. 
pressed a sigh, for he could not help thinking. “There was 
a fortune all ready to my hand, and certain, which a little 
effort might have enabled me to win, had I not made haste 
to barter freedom for one I may never gain possession of. ” 
But aloud, he said : “ Why, this is news, indeed — how comes 
it that I never heard of it before?” 

“ Oh, it all happened, Edgar, when you were in Canada,” 
said Helen, ‘ ‘ and I did tell you all about it, too, in that 
letter you never received — the one that was stolen, you 
know, because it looked as if it had money in it. It was 
only my photograph — the thief must have been bitterly dis- 
appointed. I thought I had mentioned it afterwards, too, 
Edgar, but I suppose I forgot ; and since you have been 
home, dear, I was too much interested in you to remember 
Adelaide’s good fortune.” 

Helen glided from the ottoman at her father’s feet, and 
sitting down beside her brother, slid her little hand into his. 
Edgar Dangerfield was very fond of his sister. She never 
crossed him in the least wish of his heart, and he knew tha t 
she loved him devotedly ; he pressed her hand and smiled 
back into her sweet eyes. But he was suddenly interested 
in the fortunes of his cousin, though fate had put it out of 
his power to profit by them. 

“Tell me all about this sudden wealth, Nelly, and how 
she came by it,” he said, pursuing the subject. 

“ Well, in the French family where Adelaide taught those 
two unruly boys, there was a rich American grand uncle of 
great wealth, and from whom great things were expected in 
the way of money, but the eccentric creature chose to leave 
every dollar he possessed— a totally unincumbered fortune, 
invested in the Bank of England — to our Adelaide, simply 
because she nursed him through a very dangerous illness of 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 7 

typhus fever, when his stupid relatives were either so 
frightened, or so heartless, that they were going to let him 
die. 

“ First he wanted to marry her, but s"he refused, and that 
seemed to please the old gentleman so much, besides prov- 
ing that her kindness had been quite disinterested, that he 
made her his heiress, and then died as quickly as ever he 
could, that she might have the benefit of it. 

“ The family were furious at first; but when, in spite of 
everything they could do and say to the contrary, Adelaide 
really came into possession of the money, they turned 
around, male and female, to pay court to her ; and all the 
marriageable young men have proposed to her. 

“ You can judge by the poor child’s letter how thorough- 
ly disgusted she is with them — and I’m so glad she is com- 
ing — and just at this particular time ! I wonder what she 
looks like? I’m wild to see her. Funny, she has never sent 
us her picture. Oh, Ned, if she should turn out to be hide- 
ous, won’t it be dreadful? because, of course, she’ll fall in 
love with you , dear, the minute she sees you.” 

“Little goose!” laughed Edgar, pinching his sisters 
cheek. “But I vow, this is the strangest story — quite a 
romance.” 

“ But you haven’t heard the strangest part of it, Edgar,” 
said Colonel Dangerfield, ‘ ‘ and this is really remarkable. 
The gentleman who left Adelaide this fortune was named 
Francis Tulliver — the namesake, and only lineal descendant 
of the Francis Tulliver who was the old enemy of our house, 
and pronounced the curse on Dangerfield, which is now due 
in this, the Centennial year.” 

“Papa!” exclaimed Helen, starting to her feet in astonish- 
ment, “ is this really so?” 

“ Father, this is extraordinary,” said Edgar. “ But are 
you quite sure, sir?” 

“Yes. I have been at some pains to convince myself of 
it. But it is to be supposed that Mr. Tulliver did not know 
that he was enriching the daughter of Felicita Dangerfield 
when he made Adelaide Urquhuart his heiress.” 

Helen deserted her brother for her father, and once more 
settled herself on her ottoman. 


8 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


“Now, dear papa — you know I love a story. Do tell me 
the Dangerfield legend, which I have never yet rightly 
heard ; and all about this horrid Tulliver, and what did we 
ever do to him, and what made him curse our house? — 
wicked old wretch! and why was he our enemy?” 

“ ‘ Who says thy sex are curious?’ ” quoted Colonel Dan- 
gerfield. “ My dear, you do remind me of another Helen. 
However, I will try to satisfy you. Once upon a time there 
was a traitor in our family ” 

“Now, papa, a traitor Dangerfield! You know that is 
impossible.” 

“Of course, my dear; but, somehow, it was unhappily 
true ; and then, you know, it was a hundred years ago, and 
it is the penalty of old families to bear a blot on the 
’scutcheon somewhere — so we had our traitor, and he was a 
very dark-complexioned one. Not satisfied with being a 
traitor to his country, he was also a traitor to his mistress, 
for he broke the heart of a lovely girl to whom he was en- 
gaged to be married ; and her brother, Francis Tulliver, who 
called him out and was shot by him, cursed him with his 
dying breath, and prophesied the extinction of his name 
and house when, at the expiration of a century, another 
traitor should bring down the curse upon his head.” 

“My goodness, what a miserable story !” said Helen, with 
a sigh. “I’m sorry I asked you to tell it, papa — but it is too 
ridiculous ! Why, here are you and Edgar — the only men of 
of our family that are left. Now look at Ned — does he look 
like a traitor? And for you — you dear, handsome old father 
— you could break a young lady’s heart, I am sure, if you 
wanted to, but you never would be so cruel, particularly 
when I am the young lady . And I shall be quite heart- 
broken, altogether smashed into little bits if I can’t go to 
New York to meet cousin Adelaide, and think we had bet- 
ter start to-morrow, Ned and I, because the steamer may 
arrive at any day now — for that letter was delayed, and 
very long on the way.” 

“ But, Nelly, you forget, I can’t go. It is absolutely neces- 
sary that I should return to Montreal this week. Business 
demands it.” 

_ “ Business must wait on pleasure for once, Ned; and I’m 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


9 


sure it would be neither nice, nor cousinly, nor hospitable, 
if you should run away in that manner when Adelaide is 
expected any day or any hour — wouldn’t it look strange, 
papa?” 

. “Well, Edgar, if you could strain a point — of course I 
don’t mean to come between you and your interests — but if 
you could remain a few days to join in your cousin’s wel- 
come, I would be pleased,” 

“ Very well, sir, since you wish it.” 

Edgar was glad to have himself overruled in the matter, 
for although he was sincere in his wish to return to Canada 
as soon as possible, the evening’s conversation had awaken- 
ed in him a desire to see his cousin, Miss Urquhuart. Helen 
flew to her brother to kiss and thank him for his consent ; 
and then having administered a playful hug to her father, 
she declared it was time to say “ good-night,” as she must 
overhaul her wardrobe, and pack a small trunk for her 
journey on the morrow. 


CHAPTER II. 

RETROSPECTIVE. 

Three months before the opening of this story, Edgar 
Dangerfield had been offered a position of trust by a busi- 
ness friend in Montreal, of such a nature that it promised 
to be at the same time lucrative, and such as the representa- 
tive of the Dangerfields might accept without lessening his 
dignity. Edgar accepted it, for he felt himself quite unfit- 
ted to fill the role of impoverished gentleman. 

His luxurious tastes and selfish love of ease made it a ne- 
cessity that he should achieve, if not fortune, at least com- 
petence; so that to avoid future privation, he spurred 
himself to a present effort. 

The novelty of having something to do proved attractive 
at first ; and before it had worn off, Edgar had discovered, 
or Fate had thrown in his way, a means of assuring his 
fortunes. The case of a very curious will was being con- 
tested, and the Montreal papers were full of it ; the subject 
^as discussed in all circles — at the breakfast-table, at dinner, 
m the clubs; and Dangerfield heard enough of it to awaken 


10 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


considerable interest in his mind — always on the alert for a 
possible means of bettering his fortunes. 

By this will a young girl, then living at service, was left 
heiress to a handsome fortune upon condition that she 
proved herself the testator’s grand-daughter, which was 
solemnly declared by him to be the case, although he could 
leave no written proofs of the fact. There were heirs-at- 
law, and of course the will was warmly opposed by them, 
on the ground of the testator’s alleged insanity ; and proofs 
of her identity, and of her relationship to the dead man, 
which were produced by Elise Morel, were declared by her 
opponents to be forgeries. 

A lawyer was found, however, who declared Miss Morel's 
case a good one ; and who, in the language of the younger 
Weller, seemed disposed to worlt it up “ on spec.” Of course 
Elise had many adherents, and some of them influential 
ones; her story was too romantic not to make friends for 
her; and it was in the drawing-room of a magnate of fash- 
ion that Edgar Dangerfield made the acquaintance of the 
prospective heiress. 

The girl was a little beauty in her way, and he was at- 
tracted by the dark, piquante face before he learned who 
she was, and upon entering into conversation with her, he 
found there was nothing unrefined or even gauche about 
her, notwithstanding the humble position she had all her life 
been accustomed to. 

Edgar Dangerfield had all the pride of old family and 
tradition, and under ordinary circumstances would not 
have condescended to know whether a servant’s hair were 
black or red ; but before he had talked a half hour with Elise 
Morel, he had made up his mind to marry her. The girl was 
no longer a servant; society had taken her up — she was the 
fashion; and a clever lawyer gave it as his opinion that she 
was heiress to a handsome fortune, and would undoubtedly 
win her case. 

Elise looked upon Edgar Dangerfield, and in that first 
look, as Elaine when she looked on Launcelot, the dark-eyed 
little serving-maid “lifted up her eyes and loved him, with 
that love that was her doom.” She was not Elaine, nor like 
her; far less was Dangerfield like Launcelo^; y et Elise’s sud- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 11 

den, complete and passionate love for him was fated to have 
as tragic an ending. 

Edgar was accustomed to easy conquests, and for that 
reason he generally held them lightly ; he had never had an 
easier conquest than now, and yet he valued the love of this 
young girl— at least for the time— more than he had ever 
before valued any woman’s affection ; and he told himself , 
with a glow of proud satisfaction, that his feelings were not 
merely mercenary, and though he valued the wealth which 
was so necessary a portion of Elise’s attractions, he appre- 
ciated the girl, too, and would make her the best and ten- 
derest of husbands. 

The wooing was so easy and so rapid it does not need de- 
scription. Before Edgar had known Elise a fortnight, the 
happy girl had promised to become his wife, and had agreed 
to a marriage as secret and as private as he could wish. In 
his desire for a secret marriage, Edgar Dangerfield’s motives 
were of a mixed character. 

In the first place, Elise was not yet a declared heiress ; and 
until she was so, he shrank from acknowledging her as his 
wife. Then she was almost totally uneducated, and he was 
determined that she should have masters of every kind 
necessary to make her an accomplished and educated 
woman of the world ; and as a matter of course, this had to 
be done in private, for the small vanity of his nature could 
not endure to have it said that the wife of a Dangerfield 
was receiving instruction in the ordinary branches of edu- 
cation. 

Elise Morel suddenly disappeared ; and those who would 
have said that she had eloped with Edgar Dangerfield — 
whose attentions were open and undisguised — found their 
lips were closed by the fact that he had not disappeared, but 
was to be seen, as usual, attending to his business during 
the day, and in the usual places of resort in the evening. 

There was a buzz of astonishment over this new phase in 
the Morel case ; and the opponents of Elise congratulated 
themselves, and declared that she had found her position 
untenable, and had given it up. 

But Mr. McGrath continued his efforts with undiminished 
energy in the cause of his client ; for to him alone Elise had 


12 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


written, promising to keep him informed of her movements, 
and urging him to carry on the case. To secure his undi. 
vided attention she enclosed a goodly fee, furnished by 
Edgar ; and Lawyer McGrath worked like a mole, diligently 
and in the dark, and to the consternation of his opponents, 
he won the case, and Elise was declared sole heiress to her 
grandfather’s estate and wealth . 

The termination of the case made considerable stir, as any 
one who was in Canada a few months ago will remember ; 
and the disappearance of Elise became a topic of wild and 
exciting interest. Scores of stories were set afloat to account 
for it, and there were those who even went so far as to ac- 
cuse her opponents — the heirs-at-law — of having made away 
with her. 

Edgar Dangerfield, it is unnecessary to say, did not share 
in the popular excitement; but he felt that it was no longer 
necessary to be so careful regarding his movements ; so he 
left Montreal and sought the abode of his concealed bride, 
and for the first time tongues wagged connecting his name 
and that of Elise together, and many wise heads were 
shaken, and declared to each other that they had suspected 
how it was all along. 

But Edgar was calmly indifferent — although he knew that 
his departure, following so directly on the successful termi- 
nation of the Morel law-suit, was calculated to arouse pre- 
cisely such suspicions as it did arouse. He was burdened 
with only one anxiety in the world, and that was how to 
present his young wife to his father ; for the one creature in 
the world of whom Edgar stood in awe was Colonel Dan- 
gerfield, the stately, dignified old gentleman, who had 
brought his manners down from a former age, and knew 
how to make them respected even by the present one. Ed- 
gar was much perplexed, and he even went so far as to take 
Elise into his confidence — to a limited extent. 

‘‘You see, my dear, unsophisticated little girl, we are 
such very grand people ; and I don’t quite see my way to 
telling the governor just yet, and if I declare our marriage, 
as you wish, of course it will become public immediately— 
he will hear of it at once, and I might just as well write to 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. ‘ 13 

him now and own up to everything before he hears it from 
some one else.” 

“ But, Edgar, dear, won’t the money make any difference? 
— there’s such a great heap of it — and I do hear them say 
that money will do anything in this world, if you have 
enough of it.” 

Dangerfield looked into the piquante, child-like face, and 
smiled at the naive, artless words and manner. 

“There is much truth in that, Elise, my darling— the 
trouble in this case is, that I fear there isn’t enough money 
in the 'Dominion of Canada to cancel, in my father’s mind, 
the degrading fact that his only son has married a ” 

“A servant !” burst out Elise, flushing to the roots of her 
dark hair, while tears dimmed the luster of her large brown 
eyes, and rained in a sudden shower over her cheeks. 

“Now, my little thunder cloud, I really must forbid this,” 
said Edgar, playfully, but in reality, really provoked. “You 
are not a servant, Elise, I was not going to use the word, 
and I wish you to forget all the disagreeable past, as I shall 
do. There is very little trace either in your appearance or 
manner of your having ever occupied any position less dig- 
nified than you now do, which is enough for any lady — my 
dear little wife, isn’t it? You have improved wonderfully, 
pet — you sing like a canary-bird — you read charmingly, and 
I am quite proud of your handwriting, and I have a right 
to be, as 1 formed it myself. Now, dry your sweet eyes, and 
let me see nothing but smiles on a face that was meant only 
for sunshine.” 

Elise obeyed literally ; and in a few moments her fresh 
young face sparkled with joy. She nestled into her hus- 
band’s arms, and put her blooming cheek against his blonde 
mustache with the caressing fondness of a child ; and pres- 
ently she said, in a sweet, low voice : 

‘ ‘ I will do just as you say, always, dear Edgar ; but I was 
only going to suggest that it might be a good thing for you 
to speak of me to your father — let him hear my name — ac- 
custom him to the idea of me ; and then, by and by, when 
I have learned to be a lady, and have quite forgotten that I 
ever was anything else, you can tell him that I’m quite an 
heiress, and that you are going to marry me.” 


14 


THE CURSE OF DAK GERFIELD. 


“Your suggestion is a very good one, Elise, and I don’t 
think I can do better than act upon it — now, little one, what 
are the tears for now? — an April day- is no comparison to 
you.” 

‘ ‘ Ah, Edgar, you speak so easily of leaving me again — 
and you have only come! You don’t know how I pine and 
long for you when you are gone !” 

“Don’t I? — You would not think so if you judged my 
heart by your own. But reflect, my sweet girl, that my 
absence now is to gain the privilege of being always with 
you.” 

“Yes, Edgar, I will do that, and that thought alone can 
comfort me.” 

So it was finally agreed between Elise and Edgar Danger- 
field that their marriage should still be kept secret for a 
short time — that the inheritance should for the same period 
remain unclaimed publicly, although her lawyer was ac- 
quainted with her whereabouts — and that she should con- 
tinue diligently the pursuit of knowledge while Edgar was 
taking means to break the true state of affairs to his unsus- 
pecting father. 

On the part of Elise there were many tears and a tender 
leave-taking when she bade her husband adieu ; and Edgar, 
who, like many selfish and heartless men, could not endure 
to see a woman weep, was affected by the girl's clinging 
fondness and perfect, trusting affection. 

He kissed the little wet face again and again till smiles 
shone through the tears, and Elise felt it was almost worth 
the pain of parting to be so loved and petted . 

Edgar had promised to return within a fortnight, and now 
nearly three weeks were gone, and he had not yet broached 
the subject of his marriage, and felt that he was as far from 
doing so as on the first day when he returned from Canada. 

But when, after hearing his cousin’s letter read, he retired 
to his room, he felt that he must brace himself to the effort, 
and take the consequences, whatever they might be. 

Colonel Dangerfield was no match-maker; but Edgar 
could not be blind to the self-evident truth that his father 
would look with delight on the chance of the heiress falling 
in love with her handsome cousin ; and as for Helen, her sen- 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELE 


15 


timents were already declared, and Edgar clearly perceived 
that the darling wish of her heart was to arrange a marriage 
between himself and Miss Urquhuart. 

“ I must tell Helen about Elise,” he said to himself, half 
aloud, as he drew from his pocket a letter which he had that 
day received. He carefully snuffed his candle, trimmed the 
wick, and unfolded the letter. * 

“Dear little Elise !” he exclaimed, looking at the round, 
school girl hand which directed it. “You may not be so 
rich and you may not be so learned as our great heiress, but 
a sweeter little woman doesn't live, and you are as fresh and 
pretty as a rose/’ 

He unfolded the letter and read it carefully, for on first 
receiving it he had merely glanced over it. 

“My Husband. — Dear — dearest Edgar, I write that first 
because I am so lonely ; and when I say the words and see 
them written on the paper before me, it is — oh! you cannot 
think what a comfort it is to me ! It seems to bring you so 
near me, dear, that I can almost see you and hear your 
voice. My husband — my husband, my very own, something 
that belongs to me, and that no one can ever take away 
from me — oh, my ! it is like a dream, only I know it is real. 

“ But you who have always been loved, and have had al- 
ways your own to love, can scarcely know what it is to me 
to have some one to pour out my whole heart upon, for till 
I knew you, dearest, I was so lonely — my poor heart often 
ached for something to lavish itself upon. 

“ I wonder if you would laugh, Edgar, if I should tell you 
the pets I used to make when I was quite a little girl ! In 
the family where I lived there were no children, unhappily 
for me, because I would have worshipped them if there had 
been. 

“My master and mistress (oh, dear! you must forgive 
me, Edgar— I didn't mean to say that, and I never will any 
more) I mean the lady and gentleman who were never un- 
kind to me — quite the contrary— they were good and gentle, 
but in such a way as I can’t describe, though I felt what it 
meant, for it seemed to me that I mustn’t love them — that 
it would be too great a liberty, and then, you know, I could- 
n’t. But we had a great Angora cat, and I loved that ; and 


THE CURSE OF DANGERF1ELD. 


we had a dear little skye terrier, and I loved that ; but oh, 
most of all, I loved a little marble bust of Byron that stood 
in a niche in the stairway ! I didn’t know it was Byron then 
— I didn’t care, either, who it was, but I was glad it was 
beautiful — for I always loved beautiful things, and I suppose 
that is why I loved you, darling, from the moment when I 
first saw you. 

“Yesterday I took down that lovely volume of poems by 
Lord Byron that you gave me ; you remember you told me 
all about him, Edgar, and I have remembered every word, 
and what a great poet he was, and I have read the ones you 
told me to — Childe Harold and Manfred , and the English 
Bards. 

“ They’re awfully clever, but I don’t altogether understand 
them, but I suppose I shall get more intellectual when my 
mental faculties are more developed — that’s what you say, 
you know, and 1 do hope it’s true. I liked Manfred best — 
was that right? I’m not quite sure — I think you said Childe 
Harold was the greatest of them all. 

“When I had read for ever so many hours I looked at the 
pictures. A few months age I would have looked at the 
pictures first, and I don't think I would have done much 
reading. I think that picture with the name of Haidee 
under it is sweet. You told me not to read that poem ; so of 
course I won’t ; but I think the picture of the girl is just 
lovely ; and I do so want you to come home, and read me 
all about it. 

“ At last I turned to the front of the book, and there was 
a picture of Lord Byron himself, and oh, Edgar! it was my 
Byron— the little bust that I loved so much, and used to 
make such a pet of, and love so, and now — well, you may 
be sure I shall love it more than ever now, and there won’t 
be a lady in all your fashionable society who will know half 
as much Byron as your little Elise. 

“ But let me tell you how I came to make such a pet of 
Byron’s bust. I was a very little girl, Edgar— now don’t 
laugh nor be angry with me— and I never had had a doll ; 
so, to fill the void in my heart, I used to borrow that little 
bust every night when I went to bed, and dress it up in part 
of my own clothes-, and put a little shawl around it, and then 


THE CURSE OF DANG ER FIELD. 17 

I used to take it in my arms, and sleep the sleep of the 
blessed. 

“ I was down stairs early in the morning and put it safe 
back again before it was missed, so I never was found out. 
You may judge from this how my heart cried out for some- 
thing to love ; and then, darling, you may have some idea, 
perhaps, what it is to me to have you to love— you, my hus- 
band, my own forever, the most beautiful of all the men in 
the world, more beautiful even than the real, living Byron! 

‘ 1 Oh, Edgar — Edgar ! don’t stay away from me much 
longer — come to me soon, my husband, or my heart will 
break ! I get your letters, dearest. They are more precious 
to me than anything on earth, except yourself ; but still they 
are not you, and that is not their only fault. 

“You said two weeks, dearest, and now it is two weeks, 
and more, and then you don’t even tell me when to expect 
you. Have you told your father about me? Will he have 
me for his daughter? If you will only come back to me, I 
think I wouldn’t care. 

“You may keep our marriage secret forever, if you will 
only come! Do come, Edgar, darling! do — do come. If you 
don’t, I may do something desperate. 1 may come to you ! 
You don’t know how much I am sometimes tempted to do 
so, and brave even your anger for the sake of being with 
you ” 

Edgar bounded from his chair as he read the last line, for 
at the same moment the front door bell of the Danger field 
mansion pealed loudly, again and again ; and in a few mo- 
ments he heard hurried footsteps issue from several rooms 
and hasten along the passage-ways. 

A shiver passed over him, and he sank into his seat with 
a thrill of apprehension, and almpst of fear. 

“Can it be Elise?” he muttered. “ She would not be mad 
enough to put her wild, childish threat into execution ! I 
could not forgive her !” 


CHAPTER III. 

ADELAIDE. 

Edgar Dangerfield listened for a moment, alarmed and 
anxious ; and when the bell again rang out, he opened his 


18 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


door and went into the hall. He would have descended 
with the intention of reaching the door first, and so be the 
first to meet the new comer, in case his fears should be re- 
alized; but his sister, whom he met at the head of the 
stairs, detained him. 

“ What in the world has happened, Edgar?'’ she cried, 
“ is the house on fire? or is any one dying, I wonder? I 
never heard such an uproar at our door before. ” 

“It is some late arrival, or some one who has lost his 
way, and mistaken the house,” Edgar answered, assuming 
a composure he did not feel. 

“Some late arrival, Edgar — how you talk! Are we so 
much in the way of having arrivals at any time, that one 
should come at such an unheard of hour? Who could 
it be?” 

“It might, by chance, be our Scotch cousin,” said Edgar, 
hazarding the first thought that came to him. 

“Edgar, you are angel !” exclaimed Helen. “Of course 
it’is Adelaide — I was so occupied in getting ready to go and 
meet her, that I quite forgot she might come along at any 
minute. And, oh, do see the state I am in ! I was just go- 
ing to undress for bed— I must go and make myself fit to 
be seen.” 

Helen ran back to her room, and Edgar felt himself 
somewhat reassured by his own suggestion. He still re, 
mained on the stair-landing, for it was now too late to 
reach the door before the servants ; and all he could do for the 
present was to listen, and ascertain whether there was any 
present occasion for him to exercise his natural powers 
of dissimulation. He heard the chain withdrawn, the 
heavy key turned in the massive lock, and the door 
opened ; and then he heard a deep, rich voice, musical as 
a flute, ask the servant if “Colonel Dangerfield was at 
home.” 

Edgar gave a sigh of relief— the voice was not that of 
Elise; it was far more high-bred and delicately toned, but 
he didn't think of that then— he was simply thankful for 
a reprieve, and he returned to his room. 

Colonel Dangerfield was still in the parlor; he was^the 
only one of the family who had not yet retired; and on 


19 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

hearing himself asked for, he came forward, and met his 
guest as she entered. 

“Uncle, dear uncle!” the new comer called out, “I 
would have known you in the deserts of Arabia. You are 
not the least bit changed, you are the same dear, darling 
uncle who used to take me on his knee and kiss away my 
childish griefs. Aren’t you going to kiss me now?” 

Miss Urquhuart was instantly clasped in Colonel Dan- 
gerfield’s arms, and her question was satisfactorily and re- 
peatedly answered. 

“Helen — Edgar!” called the delighted old gentleman. 
“It is your cousin — it is Adelaide! Come down stairs, 
quick ! Have you gone to bed? are you both asleep? Rouse 
yourselves! Nelly, I’m astonished — you to be so slow! 
Come — come — come !” 

“Oh, you dear, impetubus papa. I’m not such a lag- 
gard as you would make me out. I’m coming. I will be 
there in a moment. But don’t eat her up — keep a little bit 
for me. Oh, I hear you kissing her, and I’m awfully jealous 
already.” 

Helen ran to her brother’s door, knocked on it, and 
without waiting for permission, burst into the room. Edgar 
was carelessly puffing a cigar, and idly glancing over an 
open letter. At his sister’s entrance he crushed the letter 
in his hand, thrust it into his breast-pocket, and looked at 
her inquiringly. 

“ Edgar, whatever are you thinking of; aren’t you com. 
ing down-stairs? Why, it is cousin Adelaide, as you said, 
and there you sit, as composed as if she were at the moon. 
You are the most provoking fellow!” 

“Must I go down to-night?” was the languid reply. 
“ Where’s the use? I’m sure to-morrow will do as well.” 

“ Edgar, you know you don’t mean it — it would be an 
unpardonable slight. Our own cousin, and our guest— it 
would be an outrage upon common politeness.” 

“ Well — well, Nelly dear, don’t cry. I’ll come, of course, 
if the matter is of so much importance.” 

“That’s a darling, and I know you meant to come all the 
time. Your cravat’s untied— wait a moment. There, 
you’re as handsome as Apollo, and if you weren't as good 


20 TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

as an angel, your silly sister would make you as vain as a 
peacock.” 

Edgar indulged in the quiet, superior smile characteristic 
of his sex; for in his heart he quite believed himself worthy 
of all his sister’s loving adoration, and there were few 
things in the world that gave him so sincere and pure a 
pleasure as Helen’s undisguised and honest admiration. 
She slipped her hand within his arm, and the brother and 
sister descended the stairs together. 

Although but five minutes had passed since Miss Urqu- 
huart’s arrival, Colonel Dangerfield had made good use of 
the time, and already the house was illuminated in her 
honor. Every candle in the silver candelabra of the parlor 
— never used except on state occasions — was lighted, and 
when Helen and Edgar entered they were half blinded by 
the sudden light, and wholly dazzled by the splendid beauty 
of the woman who stood awaiting them, in the middle of 
the parlor, and directly under the blaze of a dozen wax 
candles. 

Helen recovered speedily enough to find herself the next 
instant in her cousin’s arms, and to welcome her with all 
the affectionate exuberance of her nature; but Edgar’s 
manner seemed, to his sister, cold and formal, although it 
neither chilled nor offended his cousin. 

Edgar Dangerfield felt bewildered — stunned; and he 
withdrew into the farther part of the room, that he might, 
in the comparative obscurity, satisfy himself with gazing. 

Women like Adelaide Urquhuart are like the flower of 
the aloe — they bloom but once in a century. Her beauty 
was of the kind to dazzle the eye and satisfy the soul, but 
utterly beyond the power of words to paint. Raphael 
might have put its radiant splendor upon canvas, and 
Titian might have caught its wondrous coloring; but the 
glory that seemed to radiate from her, like some subtle 
perfume, was beyond even the touch of genius to secure 
and hold. Penetrating as the odor of Indian spices, it was 
equally impalpable, and must have been felt to be under- 
stood. For the rest, she was tall, slight, perfectly propor- 
tioned, and indescribably elegant and graceful in all her 
movements. Her face was of the complete oval that is so 


THE CURSE OE EAEGEREIELD. 31 

rare as to be almost an ideal of feminine^ beauty ; the 
delicate chin melted softly into the snowy throat ; the cheek 
was round and full, and mantling with a color as indicative 
of health as of beauty; the mouth was a perfect bow in 
shape, the lips firm and bright-hued, and disclosing rows of 
pearl when she laughed. Her nose was straight and of the 
Grecian type ; her brows delicately but clearly defined ; her 
forehead rather broad, and not very low, and her dark 
brown, rippling hair was drawn back and fastened at the 
base of the head in a style to be recognized only by those 
who have seen the Venus di Medici. Of course the eyes 
were the special beauty of her face, as they must always be 
of any beautiful woman’s. Hers were large, dark hazel, 
soft and lustrous, flashing with merriment, melting with 
tenderness, sparkling with archness, darkening and flaming 
with anger, and looking out from a fringe of long, black, 
silken lashes. She was dressed with perfect simplicity, but 
in a manner calculated to enhance her extraordinary love- 
liness ; her costume was like the silver setting of the dia- 
mond that is not seen because of the luster of the jewel. 
Miss Urquhuart’s robe was a traveling dress of heavy, 
dead-black silk, close-fitting, without trimming of any kind, 
except ruffles of lace at the wrists and throat. 

In looking at his Cousin Adelaide, Edgar Dangerfield did 
not tell himself that she was the fairest woman he had ever 
seen — he thought of no other woman — he didn’t remember 
ever to have seen any other woman. At once he felt as if 
there was but one woman in the world, she who now sat 
before him, and who now and then sent a swift, thrilling 
glance in his direction. He looked and looked, and never 
turned away his gaze, but seemed to grow intoxicated on 
her beauty. He heard the rippling music of her voice, but 
he scarcely listened to what she said ; no doubt it was divine, 
whatever it was, but just then he cared little for the sub- 
stance of her words, so long as he heard the flute-like tones 
of her voice. In reality, Adelaide was talking of the ordi- 
nary and, in some ways, prosaic, events of her journey and 
arrival in New York; and describing with some humor, 
and more indignation, the desertion of her waiting-maid as 
soon as they were fairly on terra firma. 


22 THE CURSE pF DANQERFILLD. 

“But you didn’t make the journey all alone?” asked 
Helen. 

“I didn’t make the voyage alone, for, as I told you in my 
letter — did you get it? Well, as I said I would, I had to 
wait till I suited myself with a waiting-maid. Since I’ve 
been rich I have been foolish enough to become quite de- 
pendent on those creatures, and of course I couldn’t under- 
take the journey across the Atlantic alone. But I found a 
maid sooner than I expected, and came on a vessel that 
started a week earlier than the one I had first intended to 
sail in — besides which, we made one of the quickest pas- 
sages on record . 

My maid was a pretty, blue-eyed Irish girl, who had been 
many years in France, and spoke the foreign language bet- 
ter than her own, so that I congratulated myself on having 
found a treasure; for she had the traditional beauties of 
the pretty Irish girl — lovely eyes and complexion, and 
magnificent hair, and all the trained neatness and good 
taste of a Frenchwoman. Well, with much reluctance my 
fair Norah consented to trust herself to the briny deep, and 
for a handsome consideration, and her passage paid, 
promised to be ready to sail next day, and so she was, with 
a promptness that quite delighted me, as promising so well 
for the future. She was quite a companion on the voyage, 
made herself so useful that I could cry now to have lost 
her, and learned the knack of dressing my hair to absolute 
perfection. Well, we were no sooner landed than the base 
thing dropped me a courtesy, hoped I wouldn’t be angry or 
very much disappointed, because she was obliged, much 
against her wish, to quit my service; her husband would 
not allow her to live out any longer.” 

“Your husband , child?” I cried, in amazement, “you 
have no husband. You told me especially that you were a 
single girl when I engaged you.” 

“ And so I was, ma’am, but you see Terry O’Neil, a boy I 
used to know at home in Ireland, found me out on the pas- 
sage— he’s one of the sailors on board the ship we came on, 
miss — and what with the surprise, and not having seen 
each other for so long, and being among strangers, the talk 
of the old times made us that lonely that I cried, and Terry 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


28 


kissed me, and said the only way for us to be comfortable 
in each other’s society was to be made man an’ wife, so 
then whenever I felt bad, he could have the right to kiss 
me, an’ that would comfort me, so I wouldn’t mind being 
among strangers one bit. Och, he has the persuasive 
tongue, Terry has, and what with listening to him, and me 
cryin’ now and thin, and him kissin’ the tears away, we 
just went to the priest this mornin’ and he married us.” 

Adelaide’s listeners laughed heartily, and even Edgar 
joined in the merriment, for in describing her maid’s de- 
sertion of her, Miss Urquhuart mimicked the Irish brogue 
and manner of delivery in a style to have done credit to a 
comedian. 

“ So there went my third femme-de-chambre /” concluded 
the beauty, with a little shrug of her graceful shoulders, 
and a comic grimace, which gave an expression of archness 
to her lovely face that was quite irresistible. ‘ ‘ I suppose I 
must have another one, but there are two things in waiting- 
maids I have resolutely set my face against — I will not 
have a pretty one, and I will not have one who speaks 
French. 

“ Oh, please, dear Adelaide,” pleaded Helen, “ have none 
— at least for the present. Let me be your waiting-maid, 
and you will see that what I lack in skill I will make up in 
love.” 

“You darling child! you shall wait on your wayward 
cousin till you tire of her, and I’m afraid that won’t be so 
long as you now think. Nelly, good fortune, and certain 
disappointments which it has been the means of bringing 
me, has made me sadly suspicious and capricious.” 

“ Oh, yes, I perceive clearly that you are a terrible creat- 
ure, ” Helen returned, with a look of love and admiration. 
“Nevertheless, I will undertake the care of you.” 

“Then, my dear,” said Colonel Dangerfield, “you had 
better begin by ordering supper for her. You know she 
left New York a little after noon, and, of course, she has 
had nothing fit to eat since.” 

Helen vanished, all the housekeeper stirred within her, 
and superintended the preparation of cold chicken, a de- 
licious salad, and one or two dainties which she remem- 


24 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


bered her cousin used to have a preference for in childhood, 
and then, with her own careful hands, she brought from 
the cellar a couple of bottles of Colonel Dangerfield’s choicest 
champagne. 

Adelaide turned toward Edgar, and looked steadily at 
him for a few moments before she spoke. 

1 ‘Cousin Edgar, you are greatly changed,” she said; “I 
would not have known you anywhere else than at home. ” 

“I was but eight years old when you last saw me,” re- 
turned Edgar. 4 4 Seventeen years do wonders in the way 
of change.” 

Edgar came out from the obscurity where he had buried 
himself, and took a chair close by his cousin. With all his 
strength of self-command, he struggled to speak and act as 
usual ; and with great effort he concealed the embarrass- 
ment which overpowered him in the presence of his beau- 
teous cousin. But he knew that every pulse in his body 
thrilled to the delicious music of her voice, and his heart 
beat almost audibly when she turned her glowing eyes upon 
him. Edgar felt, without understanding his own sensa- 
tions, that he was the victim of one of those overwhelming 
passions of love at first sight that at times, but very rarely, 
occur to men of his sensuous and selfish character — such a 
passion as may make a man a hero, by developing the 
germs of all the good within his nature, or may make him 
a villain, if it appeals to the seeds of evil in his soul. Al- 
ready Edgar trembled, and was afraid at thoughts which 
had beset him since he had seen his cousin ; and despite his 
utmost efforts, his manner had not the ease and grace nat- 
ural to it. But Adelaide did not misunderstand the embar- 
rassment which seemed like coldness and lack of cousinly 
affection in Helen’s eyes. In her brief experience as a 
great heiress, Miss Urquhuart had seen the passion of love 
simulated ; nobles and princes, whose hearts were worn out 
and incapable of genuine love, had knelt at her feet, but 
Adelaide was not to be deceived. But in her experience as 
a beauty— which had been much longer— she had seen the 
real passion of love, and pitied it, and refused it ; for as 
yet Adelaide had never loved. But now something stirred 
at the bottom of her heart, quickening its throbs, and 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 


25 


sending a warm, delightful thrill throughout her being. 
She was quick to note the effect she had produced on Edgar ; 
experience had made her an adept in feeling pulses — other 
people’s ! — and she knew that her cousin loved her. 

“How handsome he is!” she thought, as they continued 
to talk, murmuring commonplaces to each other, but gazing 
deep into each other’s eyes. “ How very handsome he is! 
I wonder if the real man is as fine a creature as the out- 
side looks to be. Ah ! if he is as noble and grand as he 
looks, I think I could love my cousin Edgar, and that would 
be so nice for all of us.” 

A slight, unconscious sigh escaped her lips ; they ceased 
speaking, but continued looking into each other’s beautiful 
faces, till a slight blush mantled the cheek of Adelaide, and 
to Edgar the silence was growing oppressive. 

“Supper! good people — come to supper!” cried Helen, 
running like a romp into the room, and seizing her brother’s 
arm. Colonel Dangerfield took Adelaide, and his eyes 
rested on her with all a father’s love and pride, and with a 
deep tenderness that carried him back into the far past, for 
in her he beheld the beautiful sister of his youth, who had 
died years before the first snows had fallen on his head. 

It was almost morning when Helen bade her cousin 
“ good night ” and left the tired girl to sleep ; and in passing 
by Edgar’s room she saw by the light shining through the 
keyhole that he was not yet gone to bed. She tapped on 
the door and entered. Edgar sat by the open window, gaz- 
ing out on the sky. Helen flung her arms around his neck 
in her usual impulsive way, and whispered : 

“Oh, Edgar! isn’t she the loveliest woman you ever 
saw?” 

“Are there other women?” he answered, dreamily. “I 
don’t remember them.” 

Helen laughed delightedly. 

“You dearest duck of a fellow! Is that invulnerable 
heart of yours carried carried captive at last? And like 
the best and most obedient of brothers, you will carry her 
off before all competitors, and make her my own sister, in 
very truth!” 

“ Oh, leave me, dear Nelly, and go to bed,” said Edgar, 


26 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


in a drearily despondent tone. ‘ ‘ I wish I had never seen 
her — I wish I was dead !” 

“ Don’t be ridiculous, Edgar — there’s no occasion for such 
despair ! Of course she is pre-eminent among women — be- 
yond compare : but so are you, as a man. Be cheerful — be 
hopeful — remember, ‘ faint heart never won fair lady ’ — 
Adelaide will marry you — I know she will. There isn’t a 
woman in the world whom you couldn’t make love you. 
But there ! I’ll tease you no more— I see that you are tired 
and sleepy. Good night !” 

As the door closed upon his sister, Edgar Dangerfield ut- 
tered a heavy, sad sigh ; he pressed his hand against his 
heart, and as he did so, he felt the letter he had thrust into 
his pocket some hours before. He drew it forth, and 
smoothed the rumpled paper. It was the tender, loving 
letter from Elise, his wife — the letter which only a few 
hours ago he had read with answering tenderness, seeming 
to see the writer’s sweet, childish face as he read her words. 
He glanced hurriedly over it now ; and a flush of mingled 
shame and anger arose to his forehead. How common- 
how vulgar — how low seemed every line in it as he now 
took them in with a flashing, haughty glance, and a lip 
curling witli scorn. 

‘ ‘ And she is my wife !” he muttered, “ my wife ! A serv- 
ing maid, a low, uneducated girl, who has been at the beck 
and call of mistress and master — compelled to brush their 
shoes when they have commanded her! And I am tied 
to her for life! Oh, fool — fool! Insensate idiot — I have 
ruined my life, played with my happiness, wasted my 
heart — thrown myself away for a mere shadow,' when, if 
I had had patience, wealth, grace, refinement, and such 
beauty as never before was seen, were all coming straight 
to my arms!” 

With impotent rage he tore Elise’s letter in pieces, and 
trod the fragments under his foot. He then, with sudden 
calmness, collected every little piece, and carefully burned 
them all in the grate. 

“It is a homely proverb,” said the handsome heir of 
Dangerfield, “but I must test its truth, I fear, for as I have 
made my bed, so must I lie on it.” 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


27 


Edgar dropped the extinguisher on his candle, and then, 
dressed as he was, flung himself on to a lounge, where, 
contrary to his expectations, he soon fell asleep, and did 
not awaken till the day was far advanced. 


CHAPTER IV. 
love’s young dream. 

No man ever became a hardened villain at a single step, 
and although Edgar Dangerfield awoke with undiminished 
admiration for his cousin, and a sore heart that he could 
never hope to win her, there was in his feelings a sudden 
reaction in favor of Elise. 

‘ ‘ Poor child !” he thought, almost tenderly, ‘ ‘ she loves 
me better than her own souh^-and it would be far worse 
than death for her to know that I valued her love no more 
— worse, that it is an incumbrance — an incubus upon me. 
I must try to remember that! And as for this beautiful 
siren who has come to us, I must close my eyes and my 
heart to her charms, and as soon as good manners will 
permit, I shall bid her an eternal adieu, and return to the 
lonely little girl that waits and pines for me. ” 

With these thoughts occupying his mind Edgar proceeded 
to make a careful and elaborate toilet, and he felt as well 
satisfied with himself for the noble and self-sacrificing 
motives that were actuating him in his proposed course of 
conduct that, for the time, he felt most happy, and entirely 
heroic. He did not see that his feelings of intended self- 
martyrdom would continue but r [a ridiculously short time. 

Edgar descended to breakfast, and he found Adelaide 
alone in the dining-room. Helen was superintending the 
morning meal, and Colonel Dangerfield was in the garden. 
The beautiful girl came forward and greeted him with all 
the warmth and absence of ceremony warranted by their 
relationship as cousins. 

“My dear Ned,” she said, with a brilliant smile, “you 
look as grave as Disraeli over the question of the queen’s 
new title — what is the matter? It can’t be that you slept 
badly — your eyes are tco bright, and your complexion too 
clear, and you are too young and healthy to have dys- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


28 

pepsia, even in New England. Come, now, cast that 
shadow from your brow — or at least tell me the grief which 
has thrown it there.” 

Edgar still held the velvet-like slender hand which his 
cousin had given him in the morning greeting, and the 
touch of it made his pulses dance, and the warm blood rush 
to his cheek. Unconsciously he pressed the delicate fingers, 
and continued to hold them in his clasp. Adelaide was 
even more beautiful by the morning light than she had been 
on the night before, and Edgar felt all his good resolutions 
melt away in the sun of her loveliness like the last drops 
of dew before the heat of noonday. 

“ I am sad,” he answered her, “ because my time is up— 
my visit home is at an end, and I must return to Canada 
in a day or two, at furthest.” 

“Return to Canada? What in the world do you mean? 
Why must you return, Edgar?” 

“ Because business compels me. Do you, then, not know 
that I have fallen to the common level in so far that I must 
earn that which I wish to enjoy?” 

“ And if you have, Edgar, I am proud to know that you 
do it — but, still, the heir of Dangerfield talking of ‘ busi- 
ness,’ and ‘being compelled,’ and ‘leave of absence’ — it 
sounds strange.” 

“ Heir of Dangerfield, my fair cousin, is hut an empty 
title ; and I am very thankful for the ability to earn some- 
thing to fill the void,” said Edgar, with a fine look of res- 
ignation and conscious dignity, which Miss Urquhuart 
thought noble. 

“You are a dear, splendid fellow, and I am proud of 
you!” she exclaimed, with enthusiasm. “But important 
as business may be, you must stay a few days longer, dear 
Ned— it would be really shabby to run away so soon after 
my arrival. Why, I should think you were afraid of me !” 

“And so I am— terribly !” Edgar returned, flashing a 
look so direct and full of meaning into her eyes that Ade- 
laide blushed like a rose. 

“Decidedly a charming and most gallant cousin,” she 
thought. “ But there’s no need, Edgar, you won’t find me 
at all dreadful, I do assure you. I never do anything very 


29 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

awful, and you must stay for one more week; won’t you? 
You cannot refuse my first request.” 

I’m afraid there is nothing I could refuse that you might 
choose to ask for, Adelaide,” returned Edgar, in a low, 
almost trembling voice. He half raised her hand to 
his lips, but drew it within his arm instead, as he led her 
toward the breakfast table ; and Elise was again quite for- 
gotten. 

“ Then that is settled !” Miss Urquhuart exclaimed, gayly, 
turning to Helen and Colonel Dangerfield, who entered at 
the same moment. 

“ Do you know this naughty fellow was actually talking 
of leaving us to-morrow?” she said, “ but I have conquered 
his obduracy, and he graciously consents to remain a week 
longer.” 

Helen shot a quick, triumphant glance toward her father 
—in her mind everything was already settled ; and when 
she received a good-natured smile in return for her look of 
intelligence, she nodded her little head to signify her en- 
tire satisfaction with the prospect before her. 

Edgar remained for the promised week, and when it was 
completed, he still lingered, nor spoke of going. 

It was evident enough to the most ordinary observer that 
he was quite subjugated by his cousin’s extraordinary 
beauty. He was, in truth, madly in love with her; and 
more than once he had forced himself out of her presence 
only in time to save himself from putting his passion into 
words. Elise was forgotten — at times absolutely, for Edgar 
even forgot her very existence, when he was in Adelaide's 
company; and when remembered, it was only to be hated, 
cursed, loathed, in terms worse, even, than utter forgetful- 
ness. But even in his most ardent moments Edgar dared 
not forget the fact that he was a married man ; it was fear 
of his cousin which kept alive that remembrance, how- 
ever — not any feeling of pity or last, lingering tenderness 
toward his absent wife. Edgar Dangerfield knew that 
marriage with his cousin was impossible ; and therefore to 
speak to her of love would be hopeless madness. He could 
not expect to keep the true state of affairs forever a secret. 
Adelaide must sooner or later learn that he was no longer 


30 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


free ; and then, understanding how he loved her— for surely 
she could not be blind to the fact — she might pity and love 
him for what he now suffered. But tell her now— put into 
words his wild and frantic passion — he dared not! He 
knew that if he did so she would despise and hate him 
when she learned the truth. Not all the fervor, not all the 
despair of his love, would be sufficent then to excuse him 
for giving it utterance. Edgar judged his cousin correctly 
in this estimate of her character ; but it cost him tortures 
to abide by his enforced resolution. Another letter came 
from Elise. With a curse Edgar destroyed it, unread. “ I 
must go !” he muttered. “It is only prolonging the agony 
of death to remain here longer. I must — I will go to- 
morrow.” 

The gong sounded for dinner, and Edgar went down 
stairs. He sat opposite Adelaide, and his wife’s letter was 
forgotten — his wife’s existence was blotted from his mem. 
ory. 

A few days went by, during which, as Elise received no 
answer to her letters, she telegraphed to her husband. The 
telegram was delivered to Edgar as he sat at breakfast, 
neglecting his rolls and poached eggs, while he watched 
the varying expression of his lovely cousin’s face, and 
made absent replies to the lively rattle of her conversation. 
Adelaide Urquhuart was not a profoundly intellectual 
woman, nor a brilliant talker ; yet she possessed the faculty 
of always interesting her listener, and whatever she said 
seemed bright, and even witty, from her manner of say- 
ing it. It was the great and indescribable charm of her 
own individuality which gave a charm to her'lightest word 
or look. 

When he received the telegram, he felt the nature of its 
contents even before he opened it ; and his cousin and sister 
were quick to observe his change of color and evident dis- 
turbance while he read it. 

“ I will start for Dangerfield at noon to-day, unless I re- 
ceive an answer to this, for I shall know that you are either 
ill or dead. Elise.” 

“ I hope it is nothing serious, Edgar?” Helen and Adelaide 
said, speaking almost together. 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


31 


“ Only a peremptory reminder that my leave of absence 
is long over. Well, it is quite just. I have behaved badly 
— I will bid you all ‘ good-by, ’ to-morrow morning. For 
the present, I must beg to be excused, as it is absolutely 
necessary to send an immediate reply to this message.” 

“ But, Edgar, dear, one of the servants will carry your 
answer to the office.” 

“No, Helen, I must attend to it myself.” 

Helen offered no farther suggestion — she saw that Edgar 
was in a mood that would not bear contradiction, and he 
left the room without another word. 

But Helen was determined that he should not leave them 
entirely without first hearing her Speak her mind on what, 
to her, seemed his inexplicable conduct toward Adelaide. 
She watched for his return, and waylaid him as he entered 
the house. 

“ Now, Edgar,” she began, playfully, “ you cannot escape 
me, so you may as well yield with a good grace. I must 
have some conversation with you, privately — come into the 
library.” 

Edgar obeyed in silence. He guessed the purport of his 
sister’s conversation, and resolved to have it over. Helen 
turned the key in the door, when they both entered the 
library, and so secured herself from intrusion. 

“Now, then, Edgar, you are going away from us,” she 
began. 

“You know, my sweet sister, that I must do so.” 

“No, I don’t — if you chose to behave as a man in the 
possession of his reason. Don’t go — you know there is no 
necessity.” 

“What do you mean, my dear? You know there is an 
absolute necessity.” 

“You know perfectly what I mean, Edgar; but since you 
affect not understand me, let me put my meaning in the 
plainest possible words : Adelaide loves you, and would be 
your wife to-morrow, if you would but ask her, and then 
you need never be at the beck and call of any business, 
however money-making and important.” 

Edgar felt his face flush with triumphant joy when Helen 
said that Adelaide loved him. He had often hoped so ; but 


32 THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

it gave him indescribable delight to hear it so confidently 
stated, and by one who was not likely to be mistaken. In 
answer to Helen’s words, he only shook his head, however, 
and he could not repress a long, deep sigh. 

“ You needn’t sigh in that absurd manner — I tell you I 
know she loves you,” persisted Helen. “Much you have to 
sigh for, indeed. The handsomest woman in the whole 
world and a magnificent fortune waiting for your accept- 
ance. I don’t understand you, Edgar— and they won’t wait 
forever, you must remember.” 

“ My dear, these are purely mercenary considerations,” re- 
turned Edgar, affecting gayety. 

“ Is it, then, possible that you don’t love Adelaide?” asked 
his sister, in alarm. 

“ Helen, I adore her!” was the impassioned reply. 

“ Then why in Heaven’s name don’t you tell her so?” 

“ Because I dare not.” 

“ Edgar, there is something in all this beyond my power 
of guessing at— ah, deceiver! You are keeping a secret 
from me.” 

“ A terrible secret, dear Helen— but I will tell you ! Yes, 
I think it will relieve me to do so.” 

Edgar Dangerfield seated himself, for hitherto he had 
been standing ; and for some moments he leaned his head 
upon his hand in thoughtful silence. Upon the very point 
of confiding his whole secret to Helen he stopped ; for it 
seemed like putting a final and irrevocable barrier between 
himself and Adelaide — he could not do it. A single sen- 
tence from Elise’s letter came to his mind with the sud- 
denness of a lightning flash — if he would only return to 
her. She had said she would not care if he never acknowl- 
edged their marriage! Not yet would he reveal his own 
bondage — he would not commit himself by any statement. 
Something might happen — something must happen — he 
would wait and see. He looked up at Helen, the whole ex- 
pression of his face changed, and she saw in an instant, 
that her chance of winning his confidence was gone. 

“Helen, there are reasons, honorable reasons, why I can- 
not at present urge my love on Adelaide. But T will return 
soon, and then — — ” 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


33 

“ And then she will have been to Philadelphia, and all 
the world will have seen her, and then you will be too late, 
Edgar, that is all,” Helen said, bursting into tears of dis- 
appointment. 

‘ ‘ No, dear, I will trust to my clever little sister to save 
me from that misfortune,” said Edgar, kissing her tear- wet 
cheek. “ Surely Adelaide knows that I love her.” 

“If she doesn’t know it soon , it won’t be my fault,” 
thought this clever little sister; and she was clever, too, for 
a woman — she knew when she had said enough, and clos- 
ing her resolute lips, she spoke not another word. 

Helen’s was not the only feminine mind in the Danger- 
field mansion that wondered exceedingly why Edgar didn’t 
speak. The beautiful heiress, herself, was not a little 
troubled by Edgar’s extraordinary behavior. Adelaide was 
in love with her cousin — not at all to the same extent as he 
was with her ; but enough to be willing to surrender her- 
self into his keeping. His treatment of her was so entirely 
unlike what she had been accustomed to from other men 
that her vanity and curiosity were both piqued, and she 
was all the more ready to marry him, because he seemed 
determined not to ask her. 

“ Does he love me?” she asked herself. “ Surely he does 
— if I ever, read love in a man’s eyes I have read it a hun- 
dred times in Edgar’s. Does he not love me? then why 
does he linger here instead of going away? Is he afraid to 
speak? Is it this detestable fortune, again, that stands be- 
tween me and a true love? He knows I have spurned for- 
tune-hunters, and he fears to be thought one of them. 
Noble fellow ! Dearest Edgar ! but he shall speak — he shall 
know that I love him, if I have to speak first and tell him 
so ! Before we part he shall understand that the only value 
I set on this troublesome money is the pleasure it will give 
me to surrender every pound of it into his hands.” 

From dwelling on them, the most impossible things at 
last begin to look like probability, and from the instant it 
had dawned on Edgar that a means of freeing himself from 
Elise was possible, the idea had never left his mind. Many 
a time he had wished she was dead, but he had not yet 
thought that such a means of freedom could be compassed 


S4 THE CURSE OF DANGERF1ELD. 

— nor did he, even now. His dark and cruel thoughts of 
her had not yet taken any definite form ; but he felt that 
freedom was possible — how, he knew not, but it would 
come— it must come ! 

His heart glowed with the passionate love he could no 
longer control ; and Adelaide must have been blind, indeed, 
if she failed to read it in his eyes, in every burning look, 
in every low and faltering tone of his voice : 

“Cousin,” she said, as they arose from table, after din- 
ner, taking Edgar’s arm as she spoke, “come with me for 
a walk in the garden. There is lovely moonlight, and I 
claim you al^. to myself for this last evening.” 

They passed out together, Edgar only pausing to throw a 
shawl over his arm, while he remarked that ‘ ‘ spring was 
lazy, and the evenings still very cold.” 

It was a lovely moonlight night, as Adelaide had said, 
and the soft splendor of its rays fell on a couple whom 
nature had formed in a mood wheu she was lavish of per- 
fection, and who certainly looked as if they had been in- 
tended for each other. Although Adelaide was tall, above 
the ordinary hight of woman, Edgar was several inches 
taller, and she had to look up into his face as she leaned 
upon his arm, and murmured in his ear, in a voice sweet as 
the sound of running water in the summer woods. 

“Will you be very long away, Edgar,” she asked. 

‘ ‘ But a few weeks, I hope, if my business in going is 
prosperous. Will you care to have me return soon?” 

“ What a question. We shall all miss you, but I, most 
of all.” 

“You, why?” 

“ Because I may not see you again. Such things happen, 
you know. No one can feel sure of the future. You may 
not return for months, and by that time I shall have re- 
turned to Europe, and we may never meet again. ” 

“Adelaide !” 

“Edgar!” 

The temptation was very great— she was so beautiful, and 
he could feel the beating of her heart against the arm she 
held pressed to her side ; her great, dark eyes looked up into 
his, her balmy breath was on his face, her lovely mouth 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 


35 


trembled like a grieved child’s about to cry ; and then all 
at once they were clasped in each other’s arms, their lips 
pressed together, and their very hearts almost stilled in the 
hush of that first long, passionate kiss. 

“Adelaide, my angel, my own, say that you love me!” 

“Edgar, darling, you know that I love you!” 


CHAPTER Y. 

ELISE. 

Edgar left Dangerfield at an early hour on the following 
morning. He had taken leave of Adelaide the previous 
night, and he was at some pains tb see her again. They 
had parted as betrothed lovers, and at the time it had seem- 
ed to Edgar the simplest and most natural thing in the 
world that they should do so. But in the cold morning 
light, no longer under the influence of the moonbeams and 
his fair cousin’s intoxicating beauty, he trembled to remem- 
ber what he had done. When he was fairly on board of 
the train, and found himself being carried rapidly, hour by 
hour, away from Adelaide, instead of regretting the fact, 
it was a sort of positive ease and comfort to him. He could 
consider calmly his position, and give up his mind entirely 
to working out some plan by which he might rid himself of 
an encumbrance, and become possessed of the heiress and 
her money — the latter, to do him justice, far less ardently 
desired than the former. As the train sped forward, Edgar 
became utterly absorbed in plans for getting rid of Elise ; 
the only means that suggested itself to his mind was to dis- 
solve his marriage, but that was evidently impossible. How, 
or on what groxfnds, even if the girl would consent — and he 
knew well that she would never do so. Suppose he were to 
tell her that his father was implacable — absolutely unfor- 
giving in regard to his marriage, and beg her by her love 
for him to allow him a divorce? lie knew that Elise would 
rather die than yield to such a request, even from him ; but 
supposing her scruples could be overcome— he might make 
it a matter of life and death — worse obstacles stood in the 
way. They had been married by a priest, for Elise was a 
Roman Catholic, and in that church, divorce is a matter re- 
quiring the Pope’s sanction. 


86 


THE CURSE OF DANOERFIELD. 


“ I see no way out of it!” thought Edgar, winding up his 
reflections in despair. “ Why did I ever see her? Selfish 
little creature ! If she had really loved me, she would have 
refused to marry me. She ought to have foreseen that it 
would bring me nothing but misery. Confound her — curse 
the hour when I was mad enough to tie myself to her — I 
wish she was dead !” 

With his whole heart Edgar Dangerfleld wished his wife 
either dead or forever out of his way, but ‘ ‘ murder ” is an 
ugly word, and so far he had not spoken it, even in his 
thoughts; however, before he reached Montreal, he had 
made up his mind that neither Elise Morel, nor twenty 
such, shout'd stand in his way. Such a woman as Adelaide 
was worth a thousand chits of girls — a broken heart ! Let 
her heart break — many good people managed to be very 
comfortable, notwithstanding a broken heart. And why 
should not her heart break, indeed! If hers didn’t, his 
would, and to Edgar Dangerfleld this was a sufficiently con- 
vincing argument. His spirits arose. He went to his ho- 
tel,, dressed for dinner, and met a friend — a young man 
somewhat of his own stamp, but lacking the good looks 
which made Edgar so popular, and made the people he met 
so unsuspicious of his real character. 

“ Hallo, Allan!” cried out Edgar, cheerily. “You are 
the very fellow I would most have wished to meet. Can’t 
you leave town for a few days? I am going on to Toronto 
to night, and I’d be delighted to have your company. Come, 
won’t you?” 

“Why, what’s the inducement— beyond your own com- 
pany, which is considerable, of course?” 

“ Then you shoiild be content, nor ask for more. How- 
ever, you’re a greedy fellow— always expecting more than 
you deserve. Come with me, and I’ll show you the hiding- 
place of a pretty little girl, and one whose reappearance 
would make a sensation now.” 

“What the deuce do you mean, Dangerfleld? Oh, by 
Jove! I twig. You did carry off the Morel heiress, then, 
after all. You are a sly dog!” 

“ Don’t cry it on the house-tops, there’s a good fellow, 
£11 that I tell you is in confidence.” 


the curse of dangerfield . 


37 


“Trust to me, old fellow — I'm blind and deaf in matters 
of this sort. Only tell me one thing — have you married 
her?” 

“Don’t be too inquisitive,” was the careless reply. 

“She’s quite an heiress, now, you know— the money is a 
sure thing. It might be worth a man’s while to marry her, 
if he was in want of cash.” 

“ Then sail in and take your own chance,” laughed Dan- 
gerfield. 

“ Thanks!” returned Allan, with a significant shrug that 
raised his shoulders almost to his eafs. “ First come, first 
served — I’d be sorry to step in the way of a friend in such 
a speculation as that.” 

Edgar whistled an air from La Belle Helene , and dropped 
the subject. He had said quite enough to make the first 
step easy in the course he had decided on regarding Elise. 

‘ ‘ I shall be with you by twelve o’clock to-morrow night 
* — have some supper prepared. Edgar.” 

That was the message which the heir of Dangerfield had 
sent to his young wife. 

Elise read it over and over again, as if her loving eyes 
must have detected some tender message beneath the care- 
less words. 

“ How cold it seems !” she thought. “ Not one kind word 
> — but how silly I am ! He could not tell me he loved me by 
telegraph !” 

And she tried to laugh, but the sound of tears was in her 
merriment. She did not doubt her husband’s love ; but she 
had wondered and wept over the fact that he had not writ- 
ten to her now for three weeks. She took out all the letters 
she had ever received from him— five ; and read them once 
more, although she already knew every word by heart. 
They were tolerably fair love-letters; but to Elise they 
seemed the choicest specimens of penmanship that were ever 
penned, nor did she observe the significant fact that she 
was not addressed as the writer’s “wife” in anyone of 
them. To Elise they were entirely satisfactory ; in her loyal 
heart there was no suspicion; and the sole thought that 
troubled her was : 

‘ ‘ Poor, dear Edgar ! What trouble he must have been in 


38 


the curse of dangerfield. 


not to have found time to write to me in all these dreary 
w T eeks. Ah, dear! I’m afraid he has failed with his father, 
and such grand folks won’t have poor little me for a rela- 
tive. But I don’t care— I will love him all the more— he 
shall have more love from me than father, sister, or all the 
world besides could give him, and then, perhaps, he won’t 
care so very much. 

“ Sally— Sally, come here— don’t forget that the master 
will be home to-night, and that everything is to be made 
ready.” 

A neat-hapded, slender little servant — not unlike her mis- 
tress in general appearance— appeared in answer to the call 
for Sally, and it must be owned that the young Mrs. Dan- 
gerfield felt a trifle awkward in her presence, and was often 
confused in giving her orders However, she was getting 
rapidly in practice, and on the present occasion did very 
well, for her thoughts were too much occupied with her ex 
pec ted lord to be very conscious of anything else. She 
gave Sally various orders; and when the obedient little 
maid had departed to obey them, the pretty little mistress 
flitted about her house from room to room, carefully in- 
specting everything, to be sure that nothing was wanting in 
the order and neatness which she knew Edgar prized as 
something important. She was a charming and careful 
little housekeeper, and found very little to offend her eye. 

It was a pretty little house — just suited to such a pretty 
little mistress. 

It was a small, two-story white cottage, just on the sub- 
urb of the upper part of the city, and from her chamber 
window Elise could look down on the whole city, and see, 
afar off, the waters of Lake Ontario sparkling in the after- 
noon sunset. 

Generally, she loved to sit there for hours at a time, read- 
ing the books that Edgar wished her to become familiar 
with, and now and then glancing off the page to look at the 
distant glinting water. 

She had no visitors, nor did she care for any, so she never 
wondered why her neighbors never called on her, and she 
was far from guessing that she was looked upon with sus- 


THE OURSE OF DANQERFIELD. 39 

picion, even by the grocer and butcher who supplied her 
table. 

Sally knew, for she had often been plied with questions; 
but she was a discreet handmaiden, and had held her 
tongue. If she had any suspicions in the dim recesses of 
her own mind, she had wisely kept them there, and never 
hinted them even to herself, further than to wonder, occa- 
sionally, “ where missus kep’ her marriage lines.” 

Sally felt, sometimes, that just for the satisfaction of her 
conscience, she would like to see them— not that she could, 
have read them if they had been that moment spread out 
beneath her eyes. But Sally had a firm conviction that 
about “marriage lines” there must be something so pecul- 
iar and unmistakable that even a blind man could tell them 
from any other kind of “lines.” 

Much as Elise liked to sit by her window and look down 
toward the lake, she soon tired of it now ; for she was too 
restless and too preoccupied to be at peace anywhere. 

So she flitted about from room to room, and finally took 
up her post in the dining-room, where she could superin- 
tend the table and give directions for the cooking going 
forward in the kitchen. 

It was now long after nightfall, the shutters were closed, 
the curtains drawn, and, as the evening was very cold, fires 
were burning brightly in all the grates. 

Elise felt that it was as cheerful, cozy, and altogether 
comfortable a home as any fond husband could wish to 
come to; and with a sigh of satisfaction, she retired to her 
own room to make ready for his arrival. 

Since her marriage the matter of dressing had become an 
affair of great importance to Elise. 

She had a closet full of pretty dresses ; but she was a very 
long time in selecting the one to be worn. It must be one 
that Edgar liked— that was of the first importance, and 
then it must be the most becoming of any she possessed, of 
course. Two were selected, both of which Edgar had been 
pleased to praise highly when she first wore them. 

The next question was to choose between them which 
was the most becoming? The blue silk was cut square on 
the neck, and with her locket and velvet ribbon, she knew 


40 


THE CURSE OF DANGER-FIELD . 


was quite charming, but it had long sleeves, and so con, 
cealed the prettiest pair of arms that were ever hidden from 
admiring eyes. 

The amber-colored silk had an overdress of black lace 
caught up with scarlet poppies ; it was made with a low 
corsage and short sleeves. 

The first time she ever wore it had been at a dinner party, 
and Edgar was there, and he whispered in her ear that she 
looked “ like a little princess.” Elise remembered with a 
blush and a thrill of delight, and the blue silk was tossed 
aside in contempt, for, of course, the amber silk was the 
dress for to-night. 

Nevei* since she had worn a fine dress had Elise spent so 
much time over her toilet; but when it was completed she 
felt that the result quite justified the pains she had taken. 
Elise was a pure brunette; her skin of a clear, dark olive, 
with a color as rich as carnation on cheeks and lips. 

Her eyes were large and very dark, so that with her jetty 
brows and lashes they looked quite black ; and her hair was 
of the hue so often likened to the raven's wing, but in her 
case the comparison was just. 

It was smooth and glossy as satin, very abundant, and 
worn in heavy braids fastened with a silver comb. 

Her figure, though slight and small, was a model of girl- 
ish beauty, and her bare neck and arms were like polished 
ivory. 

Her dress enhanced her beauty, and her natural grace of 
movement enabled her to carry off the elegance of her cos- 
tume as one who had always worn such. While she stood 
before the mirror, in the light of two carefully placed lamps, 
criticizing her appearance, and very well pleased with it, 
she heard the sounds of an approaching carriage, that in 
another moment stopped before the door. Elise flew down- 
stairs, feeling that, like Mercury, she had wings to her 
feet, only she knew nothing about Mercury. But she reached 
the door before Sally, which was the principal thing, tore 
it open, and flung herself into Dangerfield’s arms. 

“Oh, Edgar, my darling! you have come at last! I 
thought you would never-- never come— but you shall 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


41 


never leave me again, love — indeed you never shall — prom- 
ise me, Edgar, never to go away again.” 

“ My dear, I have a friend with me,” said Edgar, slightly 
touching his lips to her cheek, and extricating himself from 
her embrace. “ Let me introduce him, and don’t be so ex- 
uberant in the presence of strangers.” 

Elise almost staggered back into the hall, she was so 
amazed and disappointed. Tears sprang to her eyes, but 
she drove them back again, for she knew how Edgar hated 
a scene — but, oh ! how cold he was after so long an absence 
—he had scarcely kissed her, and he had hurt her hands in 
loosening himself so quickly from her embrace. It was 
cruel — cruel ! The presence of a hundred strangers could 
not excuse it. 

Danger field, accompanied by Allan, followed Elise into 
the dining-room. 

“ My dear,” Edgar said, taking the girl’s hand, “ let me 
present to you my friend, Mr. Allan — Allan, this is Miss 
Morel — that is, ah — I should say, Mrs. Dangerfield.” 

The correction was made with a half laugh, and although 
Elise did not understand the insult of the stranger’s pro- 
longed stare and the exaggerated politeness of his bow, she 
felt that there was a want of respect in both, and her man- 
ner made her as stately and dignified as the wife of any 
Dangerfield could have been. Edgar observed this, but not 
with pleasure. Her dignity and self-possession provoked 
him. 

“ Why are you dressed in that style?” he asked in a low, 
imperative tone. “You know I don’t care to have your 
arms and shoulders exhibited to strangers.” 

“ Dear Edgar!” returned Elise, in an equally low tone, al- 
though she could scarcely command her voice, “ how could 
I know that you would bring a stranger to-night, the first 
time I have seen you for so long. But, since I don’t please 
you, I can change the dress — shall I, dearest?” 

“ Oh, no, never mind, the dress will do, and you look well 
enough. Come, Allan, I will show you your room, while 
supper is being served. Elise, I am very glad you have 
fires — it was quite thoughtful of you.” 

He turned toward her, and smiled as he spoke, and the 


42 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


girl loved him so dearly, she was grateful for very little. 
Even that slight praise, although it was no more than might 
have been bestowed on a servant, made her glad, and she 
went cheerfully to tell Sally to serve the supper. 

It was a delicious meal, for Elise had been to great trouble 
to study Edgar’s tastes ; and no one in the world knew so 
well just what dishes he preferred, and how he liked to 
have them prepared, and which were his favorite wines. 

Dangerfield was sufficient of a gourmand to thaw percep- 
tibly beneath the pleasures of the table ; and Elise soon per- 
ceived that, though for some unaccountable reason, he was 
dissatisfied with herself, he was certainly pleased with the 
supper she had prepared. But the circumstance afforded her 
but slight pleasure. 

“ Why is he angry with me?” was her constant thought. 
“ What have I done to offend him? — he scarcely looks at 
me, and that strange gentleman stares at me all the time. 
How very rude he is !” 

Elise was one of the few women to whom restrained grief 
and anger are not unbecoming — on the contrary, the un- 
shed tears that now softened her sparkling eyes, and the 
pent-up emotion which deepened the bloom of her cheek to 
a vivid crimson, but served to increase her beauty ; and as 
he continued to look at her, there was more of genuine ad- 
miration than of rudeness in Allan’s prolonged looks, which 
so offended the object of them. 

After a while, Edgar, too, bent his gaze upon her, and be- 
neath those eyes, which softened and smiled upon her, the 
poor child thrilled with delight, and soon beamed with hap- 
piness, for the man she adored was gentle and sweet to her 
as he used to be — his voice was low and tender, and more 
than once he murmured a lover’s whisper in her ear. 

“ She’s distractingly pretty,” thought Dangerfield, as he 
filled his glass with champagne— which he had already done 
half a dozen times. “Confound the luck! If I had never 
seen Adelaide I could be quite comfortable with this girl to 
adore me ! I’m sure she loves me twice as well as that mag- 
nificent northern beauty, and I suppose that’s why I prefer 
the other one.” 

The other one not being there, although Edgar Danger- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


43 


field was as madly in love as when he parted with her, he 
was too much a man of the present moment to neglect its 
opportunities ; and the present moment was Elise. 

As he had declared to himself, “She was distractingly 
pretty,” and he gave himself up to a complete enjoyment 
of her beauty, while calmly following out in his mind the 
means by which he meant, in the basest and cruelest man- 
ner, to rid himself forever of all that stood between him and 
marriage with Miss Urquhuart. 

While he sat at supper, and too conspicuously admired 
his hostess, Allan had wondered more than once whether 
Elise was Danger field’s wife. 

“ She’s a beautiful girl, and looks a born lady,” the young 
man said, in his thoughts. “She’s good enough for any 
man’s wife. Dangerfield is a scoundrel if he isn’t married 
to her— but without doubt he is, though he treats her cava- 
lierly. There’s too much authority in his manner for any 
thing less than the husband.” 

As supper progi'essed and Edgar showed an evident ad- 
miration for his pretty wife, and became quite devoted in 
his attentions. Mr. Allan changed his mind. 

“ Oh, by Jove!” thought this astute youth, who consid- 
ered himself quite a man of the world. “ He is evidently 
not married to her — he is entirely too much the lover here 
to be anything more as yet — the fool ! The girl worships 
him, and he'll never find a truer wife.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE WAY OUT. 

Placed in a somewhat peculiar and altogether uncom- 
fortable position, Edgar Dangerfield found himself subject 
to all the fluctuations of feeling which beset a man whose 
movements are not regulated by principle. On the first 
evening of his return to Elise, seeing her so pretty and ob- 
serving his friend’s undisguised admiration for her, he was 
half in love with her; but on the next day everything she 
did dissatisfied him. His passion for Adelaide returned 
with redoubled force, as if to punish him for having, even 
for a moment, forgotten her. 


44 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


Th e slight provincial accent in his wife’s voice irritated 
him beyond endurance, when he remembered the refined, 
high-bred tones of Miss Urquhuart ; he contrasted the su- 
perb elegance of the latter, her slow, yet light and graceful 
movements, with the neat little figure darting to and fro 
like a kitten, but always intent on contributing in some 
way to his comfort. The evening was fresh, light, and 
springlike ; and Edgar sat by the open window, enjoying 
the invariable solace of his cigar. But apparently it afford- 
ed him less than the usual satisfaction, for he tossed it out 
of the window, and exclaimed, in a tone of vexation : 

“ Elise, for Heaven’s sake, stay in one place for a minute 
at a time. Your perpetual movement fidgets me to death 
— come herd. I have many serious things to say to you, 
and I want to say them now, while we are alone. Allan 
has gone to have a look at the city, to prove its inferiority 
to Montreal, I suppose. He will be back to dinner, how- 
ever.” 

Elise came, like a good little wife, and took the little 
rocker alongside of Edgar’s chair. It was some time be- 
fore he spoke ; and she didn’t care to break the silence. Al- 
ready Edgar was changed toward' her, and no longer the 
fond lover he had seemed for awhile on the night before. 
She felt that she was to hear painful things, and she did 
nothing to hasten the saying of them. 

“ That childish threat of yours to come to Dangerfield 
unless I returned to you at once was a very foolish threat, 
Elise,” Edgar said, speaking at last. 

‘ ‘ I was half wild with alarm, Edgar, at not hearing from 
you. I thought you must be dead, or very — very ill, Avhen 
you were such a long time without writing to me. And 
why were you so cruel as to keep me in suspense?” 

“ Absurd ! You had no reason to think such nonsense — if 
anything had been the matter with me I would have let 
you know, of course. I was waiting my opportunity to tell 
the governor of my marriage, and your absurd nonsense 
spoiled everything. Lucky you didn’t come, little simple- 
ton, you would have ruined me if you had.” 

“Why, Edgar, have you told your father nothing, then?” 

“ Not a word, and probably never shall.” 


THE CURSE OF DANGER* LELD 46 

“Oh, Edgar 1” 

‘‘Now, Elise, you know I can’t stand tears; and a fit of 
hysterics, sucli as you seem disposed to favor me with, 
would upset me completely. Do be a good, sensible little 
girl.” 

Elise bravely choked back her tears, and smiled — a smile 
more pitiful than tears. 

‘ ‘ Edgar, I would do anything in the world for you, you 
know I would. What am I to do so that you will think 
me a ‘ good, sensible little girl?’ ” 

“You are to be very patient, and Wait till I think the 
proper time for our marriage to be made public has come — 
and you must never again disturb me with threats of what 
you will do if I don’t seem to be in as great haste to return 
to you as you may think necessary.” 

‘ ‘ I will try, Edgar — I will try to be very good and pa- 
tient ; and to care less for you than I really do — ah, that 
will be hard indeed — but since you wish it, I will try.” 

“That’s my own, good little girl,” and he took her hand, 
and passed his arm caressingly over the back of her chair. 

‘ ‘ But you are so impulsive, Elise, such an excitable little 
kitten, that I know you can’t promise for yourself how you 
i\iay feel when I am away. I must have some proof of 
your good intentions.” 

“ What must I do, then? Surely you can ask nothing 
that I will refuse you?” 

“ Have you the certificate of our marriage safe, darling?” 

“What a question, Edgar!” 

Elise started up with a proud smile, and running to her 
dressing-case, brought from it a small ebony box, which she 
opened with a tiny key, worn on a velvet ribbon about her 
neck. 

“There, darling,” she said, taking out a folded paper— 
“ Is not that safe?” 

“ Apparently, quite safe, my love. But still I think I can 
.take better care of it. You must let me have it, Elise.” 

“ Let you have my marriage certificate? Oh, Edgar!” 

“I hope you do not doubt me, Mrs. Dangerfield,” he re- 
turned coldly, and with his grandest manner. 

“ How could I doubt you, Edgar, or of what could I sus- 


46 


THE CURSE OF DAKGERFIELD. 


pect you — but surely a wife has the best right to the cer- 
tificate of her marriage, in case it is ever required. If you 
wish to say that you are my husband, no one will doubt it, 
Edgar— but if I were to say that I w r as your wife, who 
would believe me in case I hadn’t the proof of it?” 

“ You foolish child ! it is to save you from the temptation 
of saying so that I want you to give me the care of this 
troublesome paper — but there, put it away again, since you 
cannot trust me.” 

Elise slowly returned the paper to the box, but her eyes 
questioned him, appealingly. 

“ Edgar, you know it breaks my heart to have you speak 
to me like that — you might, at least, give me some good 
reason forf wishing to have the ‘ lines.’ ” 

‘ ‘ And so I will, sweetheart, the best of reasons— it is that 
you may not be tempted to precipitate matters by telling 
my father that you are my wife — if you didn’t possess the 
proof of it there would be no danger of your doing so; but 
if you were to betray our secret now, Elise, as I have al- 
ready told you, you would ruin everything.” 

“ Why now, Edgar — you have said ‘now’ two or three 
times — is there any reason why it is less prudent to tell your 
father of our marriage, now, than when you left me for the 
express purpose of breaking it to him?” 

“There is a reason, my darling — a reason worth £500,000. 
My father has set his heart on my marriage with a great 
heiress, and to tell him at this unfortunate time that I am 
already married — surely you can foresee the effect! He 
would never forgive me, far less acknowledge you, and I 
could not endure my father’s life-long anger, Elise, even for 
your sake, you little witch.” 

Elise had grown very pale while Edgar spoke, and when 
he paused, she asked, in a scarcely audible voice: 

“Who is she, Edgar? — this heiress? 

“ My own cousin, Miss Urquhuart.” 

“ Is she pretty?” 

“ No,” answered Edgar, dreamily, and with a half smile, 
as the image of Adelaide rose before him. “She is not 
pretty — she is the beauty of the world — the fairest woman 
that was ever seen. ” 


4? 


THE CURSE OF DaNGERFIELD. 

The little box Elise was holding closed with a crash, and 
the key was fiercely turned in the lock, and then wrenched 
out and hidden in her bosom. Edgar looked up with 
amazement, and could have bitten his own tongue with 
rage for the words he had uttered. He was thunderstruck 
by the effect upon his wife. She had started to her feet, 
and stood confronting him with flashing eyes and flaming 
cheeks, her whole face distorted with jealousy. 

“You love her!” she cried, in a low, but distinct and 
thrilling voice. “ You shall never have my marriage cer- 
tificate. You love this fine lady wittf her grand fortune, 
and you would rob me to make her your wife. Oh, Edgar 
—Edgar — Edgar !” and her sudden passion dissolved in pas- 
sionate tears. 

“The devil take my clumsiness!” thought Edgar. “ Idiot 
that I am to have made such a blunder — she will never give 
me the infernal paper now. But I must have it, and a fine 
time I’m going to have of it. I wish to Heaven I could see 
some way out of this tangle.” 

He arose and sauntered about the room, carelessl3 r 
whistling, and not deigning a reply to Elise. Nothing he 
could have said or done could have been more effective for 
his purpose. Protestations or coaxing would have produced 
little effect upon the girl’s disturbed mood— his apparent in- 
difference calmed her almost immediately. She stole softly 
to his side, and slipped her hand within his arm. 

“Edgar,” she whispered, “dear Edgar- say I was mis- 
taken. Tell me you would not be so cruel.” 

“ If I were to tell you not to behave like a madwoman it 
would be more to the purpose. What possessed you to 
take such an insane notion into your silly little head?” 

“ Don’t be angry, darling. I think I would soon go mad, 
indeed, if you loved me no more. But you do, Edgar, say 
that you do.” 

Edgar stooped and kissed her two or three times 

“There, you foolish child, will that do? Go and lock 
your precious box away where I can never find it, and then 
bathe your eyes. There comes Allan, and it is just dinner 
time.” 

Edgar sauntered to the window and looked out, but not- 


49 THE CURSE OF DANG ERF IE Lb. 

withstanding his affected carelessness, he took particular 
notice where Elise placed the ebony box, and as they went 
in together to dinner he observed that the velvet ribbon 
from which the key depended was tied in an ordinary run- 
ning knot. At the same moment he remembered that Elise 
slept as sound as a tired infant, and might be kidnapped in 
her sleep without stirring an eyelash. 

Never since their wedding day had Edgar seemed more 
lover-like than he was dUring that evening. It seemed his 
wish to blot out from her memory every unkind or cold 
word he had ever spoken, and Elise blamed herself bitterly 
for her cruel suspicions, while she overflowed with love and 
gratitude for his tenderness. Indeed, had Edgar asked for 
her marriage-4 ines again, it is doubtful if she would have 
refused him ; but he didn’t, nor even referred to them in 
any way, and Elise, half ashamed of the passion she had 
been betrayed into, was glad to dismiss the whole disagree- 
able subject. 

On the next morning, at breakfast, Edgar said : 

“We are going to desert you to day, my love. Allan de- 
clares he must return to Montreal to-morrow, and as I have 
business in Trafalgar about some surveying, I intend to 
have it over to-day while I have a companion. I suppose 
we can get a couple of horses at the livery stable, and as it’s 
a twenty-mile ride, good-by, little woman, for we’ve no 
time to spare. Don’t expect us till you see us, but we shall 
be home some time of the night before daylight.” 

He turned and kissed her, on her brow and cheek, with 
a sudden glow of the superficial kindness which often made 
him seem so gentle and winning; for, though he could do 
most cruel things, he was too cowardly to look on them 
when done. 

He had done something very cruel to Elise, but he parted 
from her with a kiss— the last she ever received in this 
Avorld, though she was far from thinking or suspecting it 
at the time ; but stood looking after him with tender love 
filling her heart. 

Allan raised his hat with marked respect, for although he 
was still not quite clear as to the relationship of Dangerfield 


THE CURSE OF DANG ERFIEL D. 


49 


and Elise, the girl’s manner had impressed him, and he 
treated her as he would have treated any other lady. 

Elise ran up-stairs to her room, thinking how badly she 
had behaved the evening before, and hating herself for a 
thought that had obtruded itself into her mind two or three 
times during the morning. 

“I will first convince myself,” she said, aloud, “how 
base and unworthy the suspicion is, and then I will do pen- 
ance for having admitted it, even for an instant, in my 
thoughts.” 

She took out the ebony box, hastily unlocked it, and put 
her hand into it. But the box was empty— the certificate 
of marriage was gone. 

Elise sank on the floor with a groan of agony that seemed 
to tear her soul and body apart. 

“ He has taken it !” she cried, “ he has stolen it ! Oh, G-od ! 
and this is the man I have loved! He loves this other 
woman, and to marry her he will ruin me.” 

A rage of disappointment and jealous fury swept over 
her. Had Edgar been present, she was capable of killing 
him in the first torrent of passion. But a sudden calm 
came over her— she arose, and called her servant in a quick, 
imperious manner, not usual with her, and the girl came’ 
wondering. 

“ Sally,” she said, quietly, “go and bring a cab from the 
nearest stand— there is one on Church street or Yonge 
street, close by. Don’t delay a moment — I am in haste !” 

The girl obeyed silently, and Elise hurriedly packed a few 
acticles in a small traveling-bag; she then changed her 
dress for a black silk traveling suit, tied a thick dark veil 
over her hat, and stood ready at the front door when the 
cab drove up. 

“Now, Sally,” she said, giving the girl a bunch of keys, 
“if your master returns, say that I will be home to morrow 
— but probably I will get back before he comes ; and not a 
word to a living soul about my absence, if you value your 
place. There are the keys— if the gentlemen do come back 
to-night, do everything for their comfort. This is the key 
of the wine-closet ; and, remember, if you try my dresses 
on, I shall know it when I come back.” 


50 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


“ La, ma'am, as if I should think of such a thing!” pro- 
tested Sally, indignantly, as she took the keys. 

Elise stepped into the cab, saying to the driver, in a low 
tone: 

“ If you get the next train to Montreal, I will give a dol- 
lar besides your fare.” 

Sally went singing about her work, and having accom- 
plished everything her hands could find to do, toward 
evening she took possession of her mistress’ apartment, 
and luxuriously rested from her labors. Then, notwith- 
standing the prohibition she had received, and her indig- 
nant repelling of the same, she took down every one of 
Elise’s dresses; and slowly, and with intense enjoyment, 
tried them on, one after another, with much satisfaction at 
their perfect fit, and secretly "convinced that she made a 
finer figure in them than their real owner. 

4c********** 

The night was far advanced when Allan and Dangerfield 
entered the suburbs of Toronto from their journey to Traf- 
algar — a township some twenty miles distant; but there 
was a fine moonlight, and it was a beautiful spring night, 
and they found the ride thoroughly enjoyable. 

The night brought back to Edgar’s mind his parting with 
Adelaide, and again he lived over the rapturous moments 
when he had held her in his arms, his lips pressed to hers, 
and her voice whispering in his ear that she loved him. 

‘ ‘My beautiful— my own !” he murmured, half-aloud. ‘ ‘There 
is nothing now to stand between us. I wonder if Elise has 
discovered her loss yet, and if the poor little wretch is very 
furious. I suppose I shall have a fine scene with her — 
would it not be best to destroy the hateful paper, and deny 
all knowledge of it? No, I will keep it, and if she refuses 
to listen to reason, I will burn it before her eyes.” 

“Dangerfield, do you see that great light in the sky, off 
toward the north?” asked Allan. “ It looks like a fire !” 

“So it is!” rejoined Edgar, spurring his horse. “ Come 
on, I enjoy a fire as much as when I was in knicker- 
bockers.” 

The two young men rode rapidly forward, and soon they 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


51 


found themselves on the outside of a crowd, so that they 
were obliged to move more slowly, and with care. 

“By Jove! Dangerfield,” exclaimed Allan, when they 
came in sight of the house, which was on one side a sheet 
of flame. 

“ Yes, Allan, you are right— it is my house!” said Edgar. 
“Good God! Where are the girls — but of course, they 
must have escaped.” 

The crowd soon parted, giving them full room to ride 
through, as soon as it was understood that one of the gen- 
tlemen was the owner of the burning house. Dangerfield 
and Allan rode close up to the doomed building, so near, 
that the heat from the flames scorched their faces. The fire- 
engines were playing on the flames, but it was evidently a 
hopeless task ; and the crowd was waiting to see the build- 
ing fall in. 

Dangerfield, in an anxious and excited manner, was ques- 
tioning those about him ; but scarcely hearing what they 
said. 

“There’s been no sign of a living being about the house, 
sir, since we came here,” said the man. “Whoever was in 
it must have escaped— I saw the girl late in the evening at 
the grocer’s. Oh, the Lord of mercy, see there !” 

While he was speaking, the figure of a woman appeared 
through the smoke and flames, rushing toward the window. 
Where she had been, or what she had been doing up to 
that moment, not to have known her danger sooner, will 
never be known on this earth ; but it was evident that she 
had only discovered it. 

Shriek upon shriek burst upon the air, and Dangerfield 
instinctively bounded from his horse, and tried to rush 
forward, but many hands caught and restrained him, and 
cried out that it was worse than useless. 

“Don’t you see?” he screamed, turning to Allan. “It is 
Elise — it is my wife — her face is turned from us, but you, 
too, must recognize the dress. It is the one she wore the 
night we came. Let me loose, for God’s sake — let me try 
to save her !” 

Even while he spoke, there was a loud crash. The burn- 


52 


the curse of dangerfield. 


ing house fell together in a fiery heap, and the woman was 
buried within it. 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE HAPPY WIDOWER. 

If Edgar Dangerfield had been the most devoted husband 
that a fond wife adored, he could not have shown more de- 
spair and grief than he exhibited over what he supposed to 
be the tragic fate of Elise. The horror and anguish, which 
were almost exaggerated in their intensity at first, were, 
for the time, quite sincere ; and it was entirely character- 
istic of Edgar that they should be so. As the house col- 
lapsed and the shrieking woman was buried in its fiery 
ruins, Edgar uttered an answering shriek, and covered his 
face with his hands to shut out the sight. He had a femi- 
nine repugnance to looking on terrible scenes ; and had the 
unhappy woman been the merest stranger, the sight of her 
horrible death would have affected him in the same man- 
ner. For a few moments he was quite unconscious of any- 
thing save the sickening horror of what had just taken 
place. Allan took charge of him, and, with the assistance 
of some of the bystanders, managed to reseat him on his 
horse. He was deathly pale, seemingly unconscious of what 
was being done with him, and to the lookers-on, apparently 
beside himself with grief. 

“Poor gentleman!” said a woman, looking kindly at the 
marble-white, beautiful face — and fascinated by its beauty 
as most women were, of whatever class, ‘ ‘ perhaps the lady 
was a friend or relation?” 

She turned to Allan as she spoke, and he answered : 

“Yes, she was a near and dear friend.” 

“ Ah, the Lord help him, then, he’s had a sore grief.” 

The crowd had now thinned, for the fire was too recent, 
and the ruins in too dangerous a condition for any efforts 
to be made to recover the dead woman’s body ; and Allan 
led Dangerfield’s horse till they had reached the end of the 
street. 

“ Come, Edgar,” he said; then, in a kindly manner, “ try 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELl). SB 

to rouse yourself — a terrible thing has happened — but you 
must bear it like a man.” 

Dangerfield did rouse himself so far as to look into his 
companion’s face ; but it was evident that he was still quite 
dazed. He said nothing, but he spurred his horse, and the 
two young men rode rapidly till they had reached the near- 
est hotel — which was more than a mile distant. On the 
way, Edgar partially recovered from the shock, and as his 
mind cleared, he began dimly to see the great advantages 
of his present situation. How often had he wished that he 
could see his way out of the unfortunate mess his haste and 
imprudence had got him into, and now the way was 
cleared — every obstacle was swept from his path — Elise was 
dead ! He had not wished for anything so terrible, he said 
in his mind ; he tried to persuade himself that he never de- 
sired her death, only his own freedom. In any case he had 
done nothing to occasion it ; his conscience was quite free ; 
he had not even done her any great wrong, for perhaps she 
had never discovered that he had abstracted her marriage-, 
certificate. He had not even destroyed the paper, and now 
he told himself that he had never meant to do so— only to 
keep it in his own care for better security. 

It was with decided triumph and a feeling that fate 
specially favored him, that Edgar reflected that Elise’s 
marriage certificate was safe. Now that nothing stood be- 
tween himself and Adelaide — now that he felt quite cer- 
tain of making her his wife, he could afford to think of 
other matters, and to give his own private interests that 
sole and particular attention of which he was conscious 
they had been deprived. Adelaide was a great heiress, 
and of course lie was going to marry her ; but as her money 
had been all along a secondary consideration, it was with 
peculiar pleasure that Edgar now reflected that his freedom 
had also brought him independence and a considerable 
property, for, as Elise’s husband, of course he could claim 
the estate and wealth which the law had declared hers. 
Edgar hugged himself with delight at his own shrewdness 
in keeping safe the certificate of his own marriage. Of 
course he would marry Adelaide first, before making any 
claims to his dead wife’s property; for, although it was 


54 


THE CURSE OF DAHGERFIELD . 


quite unlikely that Adelaide would ever learn anything on 
the subject in case it got into the newspapers, even if she 
should, she would then be his wife, and he appreciated the 
great difference such a state of affairs would make if she 
should chance to learn that he had been previously mar- 
ried. The more he thought on the subject, the more reason 
he found to be quite satisfied and delighted with the pres- 
ent aspect of his affairs. The one thing he now regretted 
was the manner in which he had presented Allan to Elise. 
He felt assured that he had created in his mind precisely 
the impression he had intended at the time; but now he 
wished that Allan should uhderstand distinctly that the 
Morel heiress had been his wife. 

“ Why not take him into my confidence?” thought Dan- 
gerfield. “ I shall require witnesses of Elise’s death and 
of the manner of it, when I come to make my claim, and 
Allan would be a most valuable witness. I shall make hirn 
my confidant, for he’s disposed to be friendly enough, and 
that’s precisely the way to nail him.” 

Allan gave Dangerfield the opportunity for confiding in 
his friendship so soon that there was no time for farther 
consideration. Although Edgar had not yet spoken a word 
since the time they had turned from the scene of the fire, 
and had allowed Allan to make all the arrangements when 
they reached the hotel, it was evident that he had now 
pretty well recovered from the first shock of the fire ; and 
as soon as the two young men were in their room together, 
Allan commented on the circumstance in his own way. 

“ Well, Edgar, old fellow, I’m glad you’re not so awfully 
cut up as I feared you were at first. It was awful— but 
after all, considering that there were no absolutely serious 
relations between you ” 

“ I don’t know what you call serious relations,” Edgar 
interrupted. “She was my wife, poor, unfortunate girl!” 

“Yourwufe? Really, now?” 

“ My wife, yes; why should you doubt me?” asked Edgar, 
angrily, quite oblivious that he had been at some pains to 
make the fact seem doubtful. 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 55 

“Why, you know— well, Edgar, don’t be mad, but you 
didn’t act as if she was your wife.” 

“How did I act, pray? But, however I have acted, it 
doesn’t alter the fact. Elise was my wife, and I never 
meant to make her regret it, either, whatever my behavior 
may have led you to believe. The fact is, Allan, I was 
thoroughly wretched — so miserable that I was off my head 
nearly half the time. I married Elise in haste ; she was 
totally unsuited to me — I should never have married her, 
and I began to repent, not at leisure, but in a terrible 
hurry, when I fell hopelessly, madly in love with another 
woman. ” 

“By J ove ! Really married to the girl— I can scarcely 
believe it.” 

“Perhaps this will assist' you,” said Edgar, provoked; 
and drawing forth the marriage lines of which he had 
robbed Elise. 

Across the back of the paper was written : 

“Certificate of marriage between Elise Morel, of Mon- 
treal, Dominion of Canada; and Edgar Dangerfield, of 
Dangerfield, New York, United States.” 

Allan merely read the outside writing, for he saw at once 
that the document was genuine ; he returned it with some- 
thing like contempt, as he touched the pocket from which 
Dangerfield had drawn it, and asked, coldly : 

“Was that where she kept it? poor little woman!” 

Dangerfield could not support the look, and a pale flush 
of mortification arose to his brow. 

“Don’t be too hard on a fellow, Allan,” he cried, subdu- 
ing his anger. “You are worse than I, to suspect me of 
such evil. I never meant the girl any wrong. The paper 
was safer with me, as is proved ; for if she had it, there 
would be nothing left but its ashes. I was greatly dis- 
tracted — I don’t know what I wished, or what I would have 
done to gain possession of this other woman ; but as it hap- 
pens I have done nothing, and can now approach her with- 
out wrong or shame to any one.” 

With which preface, and with much eloquence, Edgar 
told Allan the whole story of his trials, from his own point 


56 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


of view ; and really, as he told it, it seemed a very tender 
and touching romance, full of sentiment and fine feeling. 

Allan listened sympathetically, and at the conclusion, 
promised his assistance in any way that might be required 
of him. 

Edgar Dangerfleld remained in Toronto for several days, 
although Allan was obliged to return to his home on the 
next day. To all outward appearance, his conduct was 
perfect. He attended and personally superintended the 
search for the body which was buried in the ruins of his 
house, and when the charred and blackened remains were 
drawn forth, his emotion was so great that the by-standers 
thought he was going to faint. By his order they were 
placed in a superb rosewood casket, and he attended the 
funeral as chief mourner. He did not speak to any one of 
the deceased as having been his wife, but most of those who 
were present inferred that she had been so ; and there was 
a strong reaction in favor of Elise, even among the people 
who had at first been most busy with her reputation. 

These last sad duties having been attended to, Edgar 
heaved a sigh of relief, turned his back forever on the scene 
of his brief married life and poor Elise’s blissful honey- 
moon, and returned to Montreal. 

*********** 

Helen and Adelaide, accompanied by Colonel Danger- 
field, attended the opening of the Exhibition ; and accord- 
ing to Miss Dangerfield’s opinion, it appeared as if her 
lovely cousin was regarded as one of the objects on exhibi- 
tion. 

“I don’t wonder they admire her, papa,” said Helen, 
“ and I don't blame them for looking at her, either, but I 
do wish they wouldn’t stare so. And then to come to the 
root of the matter, I cannot help feeling jealous for Edgar 
at every prolonged look of admiration that any other man 
bestows on her.” 

Colonel Dangerfield laughed, and playfully pinched his 
daughter’s blooming cheek, as he answered : 

“ Now we have the story in those last words of yours; 
but don’t disturb yourself, my dear, on this subject. If 
Adelaide cares for Edgar, as you feel so sure she does, make 


THE CURSE OF DA FQERFIELD. 


57 


your mind easy — she is not going to care less because the 
eyes of indifferent people rest admiringly on her fair face. 
You forget she is used to admiration, and tired of it.” 

“Oh, you dear papa!” exclaimed Helen, “as if any 
woman was tired of admiration ! She may think she is, 
but let it cease from any cause, and see how soon she finds 
out her mistake. However, I shan’t borrow trouble — I 
think Edgar’s affairs are safe. There was a calm and bliss- 
ful contentment in Adelaide’s manner after Edgar’s depart- 
ure which makes me think everything was settled between 
them. She hasn’t told me yet, and I feel that it would be 
intrusive to ask ; but something tells me I shall know about 
it soon.” 

“Then go and put on your hat, my pet, and stop wrink- 
ling that smooth brow over these weighty questions ; and 
tell Adelaide it is time for us to begin our second day’s 
sight seeing.” 

When the Danger fields returned from their trip to Phila- 
delphia, Helen was more delighted than surprised to find 
the following brief note from her brother : 

“Nelly Dear: I have been thinking much of several 
things you said to me during our last conversation to- 
gether, and perhaps it will not surprise you — for you know 
how much importance I always attach to your advice — to 
know that I have considered all that you said, gravely and 
carefully, and my mind is made up to return to Danger- 
field at once. You may expect me almost on receipt of 
this. Thine always, 

“Edgar.” 

Helen was overjoyed — she looked for the date of the let- 
ter, but there was none. It was merely postmarked Mon- 
treal, and the stamped date was illegible. She quickly rang 
the bell and inquired how long since the letter had arrived. 

“James brought it from the office last night, Miss 
Helen.” 

“ Last night — ’tis a wonder he isn’t here already ! Well, 
Mary, get ready Mr. Edgar’s room at once — he is coming 
home ! He will be here on the next train, probably in time 
for dinner.” 

Helen then flew to her cousin’s room, wondering if she 


58 THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

already knew, or if she would hear the tidings first from 
her. 

“Adelaide, Edgar is coming home — he is on the way, 
now ; but perhaps this is no news to you, dear !” 

“ But it is news, Nelly, and very pleasant news,” returned 
Adelaide, with a lovely blush. 

“And he hasn’t written to you, too? the wretch!” 

“No, I couldn’t expect to rival his fair sister on such 
short notice,” laughed Adelaide. 

‘ ‘ Oh, you arch deceiver — a fine rival any sister would be 
for you. Come, confess, now — I must know what this sud- 
den return means on the part of Edgar ; and now I observe 
it, you don’t seem in the least surprised, although when he 
went away his business seemed of such importance that 
even an hour’s delay was dangerous.” 

‘ ‘ I confess I am not so much surprised, ” murmured 
Adelaide, “and I’m not jealous, either, although he has 
written to you and not to me. Let me whisper in your ear, 
my sweet sister — the night before he left us Edgar told me 
that he loved me, and — we are engaged to be married.” 

Helen uttered a cry of delight ; and after the manner of 
girls they were immediately folded in each other’s arms, 
and conversation became so rapid and confidential that it 
is quite impossible to transcribe it farther. 

Adelaide and Helen were down-stairs together when Ed- 
gar arrived. It would be difficult to say which of the girls 
first heard and recognized the quick, elastic step that came 
bounding along the hall,' and paused for a single instant at 
the open door. But Helen immediately turned away, and 
was completely absorbed in looking out of the window. 
Adelaide advanced a step or two to meet him, and Edgar 
caught her in a close and passionate embrace. 

“My darling — my own — my queen!” he murmured, be- 
tween quick and ardent kisses. “ I have come back to you 
-—I could not stay away !” 

“You know I advised you not to go, dear Edgar,” whis- 
pered Adelaide. 

“ I will take your advice, sweetheart, I will never go 
again from you,” 


THE CURSE OF DANOERFIELD. 


59 


“ Ah pm!” said Helen, after several minutes had been de- 
voted by the lovers to each other, “you used to recognize 
me sometimes, Edgar, even after a week’s absence. But 
now, I suppose, there will always be a cloud upon your 
vision when I am present.” 

Edgar turned and kissed her, drawing her into his em- 
brace with one arm, while he held Adelaide with the other. 

He was so handsome, so radiant with joy, so proudly, 
yet becomingly conscious of good fortune, was it any won- 
der that his sister and promised bride should look into his 
face, and think, exultantly, “What a magnificent fellow 
he is — and he is mine !” 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A RAILWAY ACCIDENT. 

Elise reached Montreal at a late hour of the afternoon. 
She was faint and weary from the journey and from want 
of food ; for she had tasted nothing save an occasional glass 
of water, since she had left her own house in Toronto. But 
she was not conscious of her weariness. Her heart was so 
filled with anger, jealousy, the pain of bitter disappoint- 
ment and outraged feeling, that she was not capable of 
feeling smaller ills — indeed, while anger survived, she did 
not realize how deep was the wound to her tender and lov- 
ing heart. She did not wish to be recognized for the pres- 
ent — no longer on Edgar’s account, but on her own; so, 
calling a close cab, she was driven at once to the house of 
her lawyer, Mr. McGrath, where she knew she could re- 
main under the protection of his sister as long as it was 
necessary for her to stay in Montreal. She shrank from 
telling Mr. McGrath her errand— pride and wounded feel- 
ing alike made her desirous of keeping to herself the insult 
which her husband had put upon her. She never doubted 
but what she could easily have her certificate replaced, and 
wondered greatly, when she came to think of it, why Ed- 
gar had not remembered that — and even tried to persuade 
herself that he could not have meant to keep the paper 
from her, but only to take charge of it, as he had said. Her 
spirits arose somewhat with this reflection, but still she 
resolved, having come so far, to provide herself with a 


THE CURSE OF DANQERFIELD. 


60 

duplicate certificate of her marriage; and then, instead of 
keeping it any longer private, to publish it at once, and re' 
appear in her native place under her proper name. Bitterly 
she how repented of having consented to a private mar- 
riage; and suspicion having once taken possession of her 
mind, was not easily dislodged. She began to doubt Edgar's 
description of his father’s harshness; and determined, so 
soon as she should again be in possession of the proofs, to 
write and introduce herself to Colonel Dangerfield as his 
daughter-in-law. 

Mr. McGrath received Elise in a warm and cordial man- 
ner. He wasn’t in the least surprised to see her ; for, since 
the lawsuit had been decided in her favor, he had been 
daily expecting her to appear and make public her mar- 
riage, at the same time that she would take formal posses- 
sion of her rights. Elise explained her sudden appearance 
by saying that she required a large sum of money, and de- 
clined entering more particularly into her affairs till the 
next day. It was now Saturday, and on the following 
morning Elise went to early Mass, as she had been accus- 
tomed to do when she was a poor serving maid, her object 
being to see Father Jerome, who had been her confessor, 
and who had married her to Edgar. But to her dismay the 
priest who officiated was an entire stranger; and she re- 
mained through the short service with a sinking heart, 
while the slow minutes dragged onward till she felt as if 
she had been there a week. At last it was over ; the people 
were gone, and Elise, having waited patiently till the op- 
portunity came, addressed a pew-opener whose face she 
remembered well — more particularly because she knew he 
had looked at her closely the day she was married. 

“Father Jerome,” she said, in a gasp, “ he was not here 
this morning — he is not ill, I hope?” 

“Father Jerome? No, miss, that is, madame, he isn’t 
ill.” 

“Ah, I’m so glad!” Elise said, joyously. “ I was afraid, 
seeing him absent — but why,” as a new fear assailed her, 

“ why was he not here this morning — he hasn’t gone 
away?” 


THE CtJRSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


61 


“ He has gone away.” 

The man answered in a grave, subdued tone, that seemed 
to chill the girl’s heart. Her voice almost failed her, for 
she felt that there would be something fatal to her hopes in 
the man's answer to her next question: but she nerved 
herself to put it, and asked, in a faltering voice : 

“ Where has Father Jerome gone? 

“ To heaven, God rest his soul — his reverence is dead.” 

“Dead!” cried Elise, with a stifled shriek, as her own 
heart seemed to die within her. She sank, half-fainting, 
on a seat, and looked back at the man with horror, as if 
he had shown her an order for her own execution. 

“ Sure, madame, don’t take on so,” said the man, kindly. 
“Was it anything very particular — your business with his 
reverence? — God rest him! — Sure I’d be wishful to do you a 
service.” 

Elise listened, only half comprehending — do her a ser- 
vice? What service could this man do her — what service 
could any one do her now, unless it was to put a pistol to 
her head, and help her out of a world that no longer held 
any place for her. 

The man spoke again, offering his services, but she shook 
her head ; and having slipped a piece of money into his 
hand, turned away, and sadly bent her steps toward the 
house that sheltered her. 

Mr. McGrath, who indulged himself in the luxury of late 
hours on Sunday morning, had just descended to his own 
parlor when Elise entered. 

“ My child, you are ill — what has happened to you?” he 
asked, coming forward and taking her hand, for Lawyer 
McGrath, who had begun by taking up the little heiress on 
“ spec,” had ended by feeling a great respect and affection 
for the girl. 

Elise burst into a passion of tears, and for a long time 
could only sob her grief out ; until, spent by its own vio- 
lence, she at last found her voice, and to her companion’s 
entreaties that she would be calm or at least tell the cause 
of her grief, she exclaimed : 

“I am ruined, Mr. McGrath, that is all— my good name 
is at the mercy of a man who loves me no more, and I am 


62 


THE CURSE OF DANCE RFIELD. 


without hope of setting myself right even in your eyes, sir 
— unless you please to believe my simple statement.” 

“ Very well— I do choose to believe you, simply on your 
word. Now proceed, and tell me what is the matter.” 

Elise, somewhat encouraged by this kindness, told her 
story in few, but bitter and passionate words ; for, as she 
proceeded and realized more fully the cowardly plot by 
which she was to be robbed of love, happiness, and good 
name, in order that another woman might take her place, 
jealousy stung her to fury, and gave a bitterness to every 
word she spoke. 

Lawyer McGrath looked grave when she began, and his 
face grew more grave as she proceeded. 

“Who were your witnesses?” he asked, when she had 
concluded. 

“ There were no witnesses.” 

“You don’t tell me that you were mad enough to be 
married without a witness, Mrs. Dangerfield?” 

“I was, sir,” returned Elise, in a low, sad tone! “ what 
would I not have done then that Edgar might have 
asked?” 

“The damned scoundrel!” the lawyer burst out. 

He knew from Dangerfield’s own lips that he had mar- 
ried Elise ; but he was utterly without a written proof of it, 
for Edgar, either accidentally or from intention, had never 
spoken of her as his wife, either in letters addresed to her- 
self or to her lawyer. 

“Well, it’s an ugly state of affairs, but not hopeless— not 
quite hopeless. It’s very unfortunate, the man being dead 
—that priest, I mean— very unfortunate — it was altogether 
irregular, his having married you in that way. .But there 
must be some record of the ceremony somewhere — in the 
marriage register, of course — every such ceremony is regis- 
tered— has to be. Now, pick up your spirits, child, pick up 
your spirits. We’ll just go and have breakfast, and then 
we’ll make a friend at court by feeing pew-openers, and 
finding out all about the books and where they are to be 
found.” 

This view of the matter had not occurred to the inex- 
perienced girl, and with the elasticity of youth she bright- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


68 


ened under the hopeful words of the lawyer. She could 
never be happy again— for Edgar was lost to her forever — 
worse than death, for he loved another woman; but at least 
she could justify her honor as a married woman, and prove 
her right to bear his name — she could keep him from the 
woman he loved, too — yes, she could and she would, and 
that much revenge she should have on her who had stolen 
his heart ; for so far, Elise hated her rival only, and could 
not quite rid herself of the idea that the man she so adored 
was in some sense a victim, while the great heiress was the 
really guilty person. 

After breakfast was over next morning it was too late to 
go forth on their business ; but about one o’clock Mr. Mc- 
Grath, accompanied by Elise, sought the church where she 
had been so bitterly disappointed in the morning. They had 
the good fortune to find the man with whom Elise had 
spoken in the morning, and there was no difficulty, beyond 
a little delay, in getting to the register of marriages. 

But there all good fortune attending their search was at 
an end. There was no record of any such marriage, nor 
any written statement remotely pointing to it, to be found 
in the book. In vain Elise searched from end to end of the 
volume, examining the record of every day in the year, as 
well as that of the day on which she was married — neither 
her name nor Edgar’s occurred in the book — not even a 
name resembling either, and which might, by possibility, 
have been written in mistake. 

“ Oh, it is no use for me to struggle farther— everything 
is against me !” the unhappy girl groaned, turning away in 
despair. 

“ Now, my child, this won’t do,” said the lawyer, with an 
affectation of cheerfulness he was very far from feeling. 
‘ ‘ Let me ask a few questions. You can listen. Can you tell 
me, my good fellow — you have already obliged us much- 
can you tell me when the Reverend Father died?” 

“It’s meself that can, sir, for I was the one that found him 
in a fit on the last 14th of March that ever was, and from 
that fit he never recovered, but died before sunset the same 
day, and the doctors called it heart disease.” 

“The 14th of March?” Elise murmured, in a low voice, 


64 THE CURSE OF DAJVGERFIELD. 

intended only for McGrath, “the very day that we were 
married.” 

The pew-opener heard the words which were not intended 
for his ears, and they caused him to fix a close and search- 
ing look on Elise, whose face was so concealed by her veil 
that he had not had a good look at her. 

“Them’s the very words the gentleman said,” the man re- 
marked to the lawyer, “ and now I think of it he looked at 
the Register and seemed pleased — I thought he had found 
what he wanted.” 

“ What gentleman?” asked Elise, in a sharp, hard voice. 

‘ £ A beautiful gentleman, madam, one that you could never 
forget if ye ever saw him. I remembered seeing him here 
one day before with an uncommon pretty girl, and I mis- 
trusted they wanted to be married then, but I never knew 
the rights of it — but it’s only a few days since the gentleman 
was here ” 

Elise caught the lawyer by the arm, and he felt that she 
leaned her whole weight upon him, and he knew that she 
needed the support. 

“ Oh, come away, sir!” she said, in an agonized whisper^ 

‘ ‘ I have heard enough— too much. My last hope is gone. 
Don’t you see, he came here first and learned that he was 
secure in what he intended to do, and then he robbed me of 
my one proof that I was an honest woman? Oh, Edgar.: — 
Oh, Edgar, could you not have killed me while I still thought 
you loved me? but to destroy me in this way — it is cruel — 
cruel !” 

McGrath drew her hastily away, and endeavored, as much 
as possible, to conceal her agitation ; but he could feel the 
slight form quiver and shake with emotion. 

When they returned to his house the grief and rage of 
Elise were for a long time uncontrollable; she wept and 
raved — she vowed wild threats of revenge, she uttered 
piteous moans of distress, she called upon Edgar to return 
to her — she implored her rival to send him back — it seemed 
as if her reason tottered, and she had lost all power to con- 
trol herself or regulate her words. But after long hours’ 
complete abandonment to her desperate condition, she grew 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 


65 


calmer. She apologized for the trouble she had caused, and 
promised to bear her sorrow with more dignity . 

Succeeding her violent and uncontrollable emotion, her 
enforced quiet and composure was almost disconcerting; 
and McGrath, who was heartily sorry for her, and anxious 
to assist her in any possible manner, through his ignorance 
of women and their ways, was almost at his wits’ end how 
to manage her. Elise retired to her room, and whether 
she slept or not, quiet reigned within it — so much so that 
Miss McGrath was somewhat alarmed, and felt much re- 
lieved when their young guest emerged in the morning, 
calm, composed, but deadly pale. Elise was dressed for 
traveling, and as she was bent on taking the first train for 
Toronto she would only remain long enough for breakfast, 
and a few moments’ conversation with her lawyer. 

“What do you intend to do, my child?” McGrath in- 
quired. “ I must know something of your plans before I 
can allow you to venture on a journey alone, in your ex- 
cited and wretched state of mind.” 

“ Have no fears for me, my good, kind friend,” returned 
Elise. “ I am calm enough now, and my mind is made up 
to a course which will require me to keep calm — I promise 
you that I will keep so, at least in all my outward appear- 
ance. For this wretched soul of mine I cannot promise. 
But listen, and I will tell you my plan; and I think you 
will approve. I will return to my husband, if he has not 
already gone away, and I will appeal to his honor to do 
me justice; and if I fail I will communicate the result 
to you, my cnly friend, and be guided by your advice.” 

Mr. McGrath acknowledged that this seemed at present 
the only course that could be pursued ; and he accompanied 
Elise to a cab, put her in, and parted with her, very kindly, 
but deeply grieved. 

So far as restraining outward manifestation of her sor- 
row went, Elise kept her promise ; but thought and bitter 
suffering were busy within her. 

“ He will never acknowledge me as his wife,” she thought ; 
“ he has, perhaps, before now destroyed the only proof that 
I am so — my Edgar — my husband, that I have so loved— 
the man on whom I lavished my hungry heart, that was 


66 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


starved all my life for some one to love. And how I have 
loved him — oh, God ! how I love him still ! And he casts 
me from him as I have seen him throw aside a pair of gloves 
he had tired of — how he must love this woman — his cousin, 
what did he call her, Adelaide !” 

She drew her veil closer about her face, for the color would 
rush into it, like flame ; then fade away again, leaving her 
like aT faded lily, and she could not repress the scorching 
tears that would brim from her full eyes, and seemed to 
blister her cheeks as they fell. 

The train sped on with extraordinary swiftness, but to 
Elise it seemed scarcely to move ; for every minute seemed 
twenty in her anxiety to reach her little home, and learn 
whether Edgar had returned, or had forever left her. 

“But he is gone!” she thought, in her despair, “ without 
doubt he has gone. I needn't pursue him — I love him still, 
and I could do nothing. I have lived too long — it is time 
for me to leave this sad world where 1 have always seemed 
homeless and a stranger. It would be better for me — bet- 
ter for all if I were dead — oh, I wish I could die — I wish I 
could die!” 

A terrible crash — a shock as if the earth was shaken, 
then a fall, a crush, shrieks of -women, cries of children, 
oaths and screams of men, a sense of pain— pain every 
where, and then black darkness. 

The train had been thrown from the track, several per- 
son were killed, many were seriously and dangerously 
wounded, and the car next to the locomotive was on fire. 

It was a scene of the wildest confusion, terror, grief, and 
bodily agony, such as nearly always attends upon that ter- 
rible horror, a railway accident. Many willing hands were 
there to aid and to give all the help within their power, but 
with the utmost expedition it was hours before the dead 
were removed, the wounded cared for, and the debris re- 
moved from the track. But at last the train moved on, the 
stations along the line were telegraphed, and such passen- 
gers as were unhurt, and those of the wounded as could be 
moved, were carried forward to their homes. 

As the train moved off a middle-aged man, dressed like a 
well-to-do farmer, called to one of the railway porters : 


67 


THE CURSE OF DANQERFIELD . 

“ Here, Ben, lend a hand, here’s a poor creature who has 
been overlooked. She lay here on the other side of the track, 
hidden by these trees.” 

The man addressed as Ben came forward, and stooped 
over the insensible form of a young woman. She was 
dressed in a traveling costume of black silk, and her un- 
gloved hand still grasped tightly a small, Russia- leather 
traveling bag. Her hat had been knocked off, and her mag- 
nificent, long, black hair was unbound, and flowed loose 
about her neck and shoulders. Her face was frightfully cut 
and bruised, and her pallid lips and brow, stained with 
blood, had the hue of death. 

‘ ‘ It’s no use, Mr. Murray, ” said Ben, ‘ ‘ she’s dead. See, sir, 
there ain’t a flicker of the pulse at the wrist.” 

‘ ‘ Touch her gently all the same, Ben, and help me carry 
her to my house. God help her father— if she has one. 
Poor girl ! she must have been a lovely creature ; see her 
splendid hair, and the neat, pretty figure. Married, too, to 
judge by that plain gold ring — so young, no older than our 
Nancy, Ben, and to die when, perhaps, she has only begun 
to live. Poor girl — poor girl !” 


CHAPTER IX. 

WEDDING BELLS. 

Edgar proved an ardent and impetuous lover. He plead- 
ed for an early marriage, and Adelaide had no wish to re- 
fuse. She was as much in love with her cousin as she 
believed herself capable of being in love with any man ; and 
she was devotedly attached to her uncle and to Helen. It 
touched her deeply to see the evidences of straitened circum- 
stances which all their pride and all their care could not 
conceal from her; and she knew what a God-send her wealth 
would be to the whole family, when, as Edgar’s wife, she 
would have the right to make it flow freely upon all. So 
when Edgar pressed his suit with an ardor which could not 
fail to be pleasing, she affected no maiden shyness, but said, 
with a lovely blush and a happy laugh : 

“Since we love each other, dear Edgar, and have agreed 
to be married, of course, any unnecessary delay would be 


63 


THE CURSE OF bANGERFIELD . 


ridiculous. But as I have not come with a trousseau all 
ready prepared — not having anticipated any such necessity 
—you must allow me a little time. I insist on the tradi- 
tional bridal robes, and the customary nu nber of lovely 
dresses ; I never cared much about such things before, but 
as one doesn’t expect to be married more than once, of course 
one must make the most of the great occasion — don’t you 
think so, dear?” 

“I think whatever you think, my darling,” said Edgar, 
holding her hands, and looking at his own reflection in her 
fine eyes. But don’t be too hard on me — try to think how 
I love you — and tell me when I may call you all my own — 
my wife !” 

“Let it be two weeks from to-day, then, Edgar.” 

“ You are an angel!” exclaimed the happy lover, kissing 
her two fair hands. ‘ ‘ But isn’t a fortnight a very long time 
to make a dress?” 

“A dress, sir? — A dozen dresses, if you please; and little 
enough time to do them in, too.” 

So the marriage was fixed for the 1st of June; and the 
preparations for the happy event went forward briskly. 

Helen Dangerfield had never been so happy in her life ; 
her match-making had thriven beyond what she had dared 
to hope, for she had not thought that Adelaide would con- 
sent to such a speedy marriage; and now she found herself 
surrounded with all the delightful paraphernalia of a wed- 
ding, and realized that she was in her element. 

A fashionable dressmaker, with two assistants, was 
brought down from the metropolis, and the cousins, accom- 
panied by Edgar, made frequent flying trips to the city to 
match silks, to buy trimmings— in short, “to do a little 
shopping,” with all the varieties of entertainment which 
women alone know to be wrapped up in that magic phrase. 

“ Helen, dear, I must have a maid, too,” said Adelaide, 
one day. “I think I will make out an advertisement, 
minutely describing the article I am in want of, and have 
it left at the principal daily paper offices.” 

“ Oh, Adelaide, no — not till after the wedding, anyway,” 
pleaded Helen, adding, in a tone of mock despair: “I’m 
sorry you find me so inefficient, ma’am, but indeed I will 


69 


THE CURSE OF DANOERFIELD . 

try to improve, and give better satisfaction if you will put 
up with me a while longer.” 

“Oh, it isn’t inefficiency, you little humbug,” laughed 
Adelaide, “ it is that I’m afraid you’re going to serve me 
just as the others did, and leave me for a husband. There 
really seems to be something fatal to single blessedness in 
entering my service.” 

“You don’t mean to insinuate that Nelly’s in love?” said 
Edgar, from his place at Adelaide’s feet, where he sat hold- 
ing a skein of floss silk, wfliile she wound it from his fingers, 
“I shall be jealous— I couldn’t stand it— she never was 
known to look at any man save her brother, and, well— 
perhaps her father — since the hour she was born.” 

“ One must do something in self-defense,” returned Helen. 
“ Since you have ceased to have eyes for any save one fair 
maiden I have grown desperate ; but, so far, I have only 
got to the extent of occasionally looking upon other repre- 
sentatives of your sex for purposes of comparison, merely. 

“Edgar, don’t believe all she says — I tell you she had a 
positive flirtation with such a fine-looking gentleman in 
Philadelphia, when we went to the Centennial opening, on 
the 10th of May.” 

•“ Now, Adelaide, try to tell the truth, dear; even if you 
can’t, it would be praiseworthy to make the effort. You 
know right well you were the attraction.” 

“ Well, I admit that I was, perhaps, at first. He followed 
us with his glances, hour after hour, and it really seemed as 
if we were the show he had come to see. At first he favored 
me with his most particular regard ; but when, in the after- 
noon, as we were trying to find our carriage, Nelly’s ad- 
venturous spirit took her among a lot of strange horses, 
and she was nearly run over and killed, frightening poor, 
dear uncle and myself so that we didn’t recover until next 
day, lo! our admirer proved himself her knight, rescued 
her in the most gallant manner, bore her to the arms of her 
terrified papa, and really, on the whole, behaved beautifully. 
Of course uncle was as grateful as possible, the gentlemen 
exchanged cards, and shook hands, and mutually hoped 
they would become better acquainted; and ” 

“And what was the end of it,” interrupted Helen, “for we 


70 


TEE CURSE OF DANGER FIELD. 


never saw him again. And although papa invited him 
most cordially to make himself our guest, in case he ever 
came in the neighborhood of Dangerfield, you see what 
haste he has made to avail himself cf the invitation, and 
what slight material this imaginative girl requires to work 
out a romance.” 

“ Never mind, Miss Nelly — and you see, Edgar, if I don't 
prove a prophetess. Helen’s sweetheart will appear on the 
scene again ; he isn’t going to give her up in that way, and 
you must acknowledge that I am right in getting ready for 
an emergency, for I shall need another waiting-maid before 
a month.” 

“ Well, don’t speak of it again until the wedding is over, 
that's a darling — don’t bring a prying, inquisitive, strange 
young woman into the house just now, when I want you 
all to myself for the little while that remains.” 

“ Well, Mary, what is it? 

“ If you please, Miss Helen, Madame Moran says if Miss 
Urquhart will please to come out here and have the white 
satin bodice tried on, as she would be much obliged and try 
not to trouble her again:” 

“Come, Adelaide, I’ll go, too. I am much interested in 
the fit of that bodice, ” cried Helen, jumping up, and leading 
the way. Adelaide stayed a moment to wind up the last 
thread of her silk, and then gave the ball of floss to Edgar 
to hold till she came back. As she moved away, he caught 
the skirt of her dress, and pressed it passionately to his 
lips, and she looked back at him with a radiant smile, and 
threw him a kiss from the rosy tips of her fingers. 

“Really,” she thought, “he is a perfect lover — so 
handsome; so devoted, so constant and delicate in his 
attentions — so impassioned, and yet so reverent in his man- 
ner. No girl could have a more charming lover — I declare 
it is very nice, and I’m as happy as a queen. ” 

Edgar looked at her with joy and triumph. “So beauti- 
ful, so bright, and all my own!” he murmured. “Certainly 
I am the luckiest fellow that ever was born. Fate, itself, 
favors me. That poor little Elise! how lucky it was that 
she died. She would have been a perfect source of misery 


THE. CURSE OF DA NGERFIELD. 


71 


to herself and to me, if she had lived ; and now she is safe 
from all her woes and disappointments.” 

“For noiseless falls the foot of Time, 

That only falls on flowers.” 

Edgar didn’t know the lines but he felt them, as the swift 
days chased each other toward the golden day that was to 
make the fair heiress his wife ; and soft, sweet, and noise- 
less as the falling of rose petals on the grounds, the hours 
flew onward. 

One morning Adelaide came down to breakfast late, a 
circumstance so unusual that every one at the table looked 
up when she made her appearance, prepared with some 
play ful remark on the subject ; but the light words were 
unuttered, for she sat down quietly, without looking at any 
one, and her face was very pale and troubled. 

“ My darling, you are ill,” said Edgar, anxiously. 

“No, I am not ill,” returned the latter, coldly, drawing 
her hand away from her lover’s tender clasp. 

“Then what in the world is the matter, Adelaide? and 
please don’t look so tragic,” said Helen, frightened, she 
couldn’t tell why, although she tried to speak lightly. 

“I hope nothing has happened, my dear? you have had 
no ill news?” said Colonel Dangerfield, kindly. 

“ No, dear uncle, nothing of the kind. The fact is, I am 
very silly, but I have had a disagreeable dream, and it was 
so painfully vivid that I scarcely seem to have quite waked 
from it yet.” 

Colonel Dangerfield laughed, and Edgar and Helen looked 
relieved. 

“Now, my dear, you don’t profess to have that trouble- 
some Scotch gift of second sight?” said the old gentleman. 
“ If you have, discourage it, for it will get you into constant 
trouble and worry, and never do you any good.” 

“Well, uncle, they used to say we had a gift in my 
father’s family ; and, really, my last night’s experience was 
very like some things I have heard of it.” 

“Nonsense, my dear, there’s no such thing. You may 
have had a disagreeable dream, of course, I don’t doubt it. 
We all sat up too late last night, and I didn’t sleep well 
myself ; and then that salad of Helen’s was to blame, I’m 


72 


THE CURSE OF DANOERFTELD. 

sure. I never knew you to make a mistake before, Nell, 
but certainly there was something wrong with the dress- 
ing ” 

“Oh, say it was me,” laughed Helen, very glad to bear 
the blame, “ and now let me give you some coffee, Adelaide ; 
although I did make it this morning, I think it will bear 
drinking.” 

Adelaide made an effort to overcome her depression, 
and took the cup of coffee from her cousin with the 
radiant smile which seemed to light up her face like 
sunshine. Then she beamed upon her lover, and so dis- 
pelled the cloud from his brow, and the breakfast proceeded 
with almost the customary amount of playful and enjoy- 
able conversation which generally made it such a pleasant 
beginning to the day. 

But Helen saw that her cousin’s spirits were forced ; and 
although Colonel Dangerfield, and even Edgar, soon forgot 
all about Adelaide’s dream, and thought her as gay as usual, 
the quicker and deeper feminine eyes were not deceived, 
and Helen felt quite sure there was more in her cousin’s 
troubled eyes than the memory of an ordinary, or even 
very unpleasant, dream. 

In the course of the day, when the two girls were alone 
in their dressing-room, during the hour before dinner, 
Helen returned to the topic of the morning. 

“ Sister, darling— for you know you are my sister in heart 
and soul— I can’t bear to see you so troubled. Will you not 
tell me, dear Adelaide, all about this horrid dream — or 
whatever it is that makes you so unlike yourself !” 

“Yes, Helen, I will,” Miss Urquhuart said, adding, with 
an abruptness that was almost startling, “I feel, Helen, 
that I have received a warning not to marry Edgar.” 

“ Adelaide! What do you mean?” 

“You must not laugh, Nelly, and I will tell you all 
about it.” 

“Laugh?” returned Helen, piteously, as the tears rushed 
to her eyes, “ I am more likely to cry, if you even dream 
of such a thing. Not marry Edgar — oh — oh — oh — poor 
Edgar— poor Edgar J” 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELI). 


73 


“Hush, now, Nelly dear, you know it was only in a dream 
I thought of it.’’ 

“But you are wide awake now, Adelaide, and your 
wedding-dress all made, and the veil and the orange 
blossoms come home— it will kill Edgar — I know ij^will kill 
him — •” 

“Oh, do be quiet, you ridiculous child, and listen to me. 
I only want to get this horrid dream off my mind— and I 
would rather defy all the dreams that were ever sent to 
make sleep hideous than make you cry— I believe I love 
you more than Edgar, after all, so just listen.” 

Helen dried her tears, and with the quick self-control she 
was always capable of, turned a calm and attentive face 
toward her cousin. 

“ You know how late it was when we all went to bed last 
night, and I was so tired that it seemed to me that almost 
before my head touched the pillow, I was sound asleep. At 
first so deeply, so dreamlessly, that I knew nothing— I was 
not even conscious that I lived; when on a sudden, I seemed 
to be wide awake, and a girl stood beside my bed, looking 
down at me. I saw her so distinctly that I can never forget 
her face — I could draw it now, if I had the skill to put it 
upon paper. She was small and slight, with a piquant, 
pretty face— or at least it must have been pretty once, but 
it was now bruised, cut and covered with blood ; and her 
great dark, wild eyes glared down on me, and seemed to 
burn into my soul. Then she spoke, and I heard her words, 
and the quivering, vibrating tone of her voice, just as dis. 
tinctly as I saw her. ‘ I know that he loves you,’ she said, 
‘but he is mine— mine! I am his wife — do not dare come 
between us?’ 

“Then she was gone, and I lay there, wide awake, cold 
and trembling, and looking at the early morning light that 
was faintly stealing through the parted curtains. I started 
up, frightened, but trying to persuade myself that I had 
dreamed. I bathed my face, drew the curtains close, 
darkened the room as much as possible, and returned to 
bed ; after a long time I fell asleep again, deeply and soundly 
as before. But not for long. Again the same girl stood by 


74 


THE CURSE OF DA NGERFIELD. 


my bedside— again she looked at me with eyes that even 
now seem to scorch me, and again she spoke : 

‘ ‘ Woman, I tell you he is mine ! Edgar Dangerfield is my 
husband — do not dare to come between us!’ and as I started 
up in bed with a loud cry, I saw that I was alone, and that 
it was morning, for the curtains were parted and drawn 
back, and the sunshine fell right across my bed. Now, 
Helen, I know that I closed the curtains and darkened the 
room— what hand had parted them and drawn them 
back while I slept? I arose and examined the door — it 
was fast locked, as I have the habit of always locking my 
door, since I have traveled so much, and have been alone 
in so many strange places. I looked at my watch, and 
found that it was five o’clock, and then I lay down again— 
for my head was heavy from want of sleep, and I was 
nervous and frightened. I must have fallen asleep then, I 
suppose, for I didn't wake again till the bell rang for break- 
fast. Now, Cousin Helen, do you wonder that I am unlike 
my usual self, and not quite sure whether I am yet fully 
awake?” 

Helen was more impressed and startled than she chose to 
acknowledge, whereas Miss Urquhuart seemed to think 
more lightly of her night’s visions now that she had put 
them into words. 

“You know it is simply absurd,” said Helen, determined 
to give no serious attention to what she had just heard. 

‘ ‘ Edgar scarcely ever looked at a woman till you came ; so 
the idea of any one being his wife is too absurd for consid- 
eration. He has been satiated with feminine admiration- 
so much so that he almost disliked women. I was as much 
surprised as delighted when he fell in love with you, dear— 
although, of course it was impossible he could have helped 
himself. 

“ The whole thing was an ugly dream— don’t think of it 
any more. Papa was righl^-my salad last night must have 
been an awful failure. But don’t tell this nightmare of 
yours to Edgar, Adelaide — he would think you had tired of 
your bargain and wanted to break with him. And then 
Heaven knows what absurd thing he would do— he might 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFTELD . 


75 


think you suspected him of wanting your money, and in 
that case he wouldn’t marry you, for the dread of incurring 
such a suspicion kept him a long while from telling you that 
he was over head and ears in love with you.” 

“Did it, Nelly? — the dear fellow ! I thought there was 
something of the kind,” said Miss Urquhuart. She forgot 
her dream, and her heart glowed and warmed toward Ed. 
gar. 

“You might have known it, dear, for he adored you from 
the first moment, only he was positively afraid to tell you 
so. And now do forget all about that ugly dream — you 
shall have no more late suppers, and I will send you to bed 
at nine o’clock to-night. 

“ Very well — only I hope I won’t dream it again — I'm 
just so silly, it makes me nervous,” 

“ Let me sleep in your room to-night, Addie — bad 
dreams never come near me.” 

So the two girls slept together that night ; and Helen 
watched her cousin’s slumbers, as if she had been an infant 
committed to her care. In the morning she inquired anx- 
iously, but with a laugh : 

“ Well, what did you dream?” 

“Nothing.” 

“Charming — the best possible dream; and to-morrow is 
your wedding day.” 

The next day Helen's morning kiss waked Adelaide. 

“Well, did you dream anything remarkable?” 

“ Nothing remarkable, Nell — only that you were a goo&e, 
and I wake to find it true. Don’t be alarmed, dear, I shall 
marry Edgar — no amount of dreams would make me dis- 
appoint you.” 

“Me, dear? But surely you love Edgar?” 

“Of course I love him, why else should I marry him? 
But I really think I care more for you, Nelly.” 

“Thank you, love, that sounds nice, and it is just as true 
as I would have it. But come — it is time to dress, and 
this is why I wouldn’t let you have a waiting-maid. Be- 
cause I wanted to dress you in your wedding robes my- 
self.” 

Adelaide was the loveliest bride in the world; Edgar 


76 


THE CURSE OF DA NOER FIELD. 


thought so, and everbody else said so. All Dangerfield 
was at the wedding— the church bells rang the merriest 
peal; the bride-maids were charming; the best man was 
exactly on time; the ring fitted to a charm, and not the 
least little thing went wrong. 

“And so much for dreams!” whispered Helen, as the 
bride entered the carriage. ‘ ‘ Only never tell dear Edgar. 
It might hurt his feelings.” 


CHAPTER X. 
somebody’s tombstone. 

Mr. Murray and his companion carried the insensible 
girl across the green fields to an old-fashioned farm-house, 
about a quarter of a mile distant. 

A neat, motherly woman met them at the door ; and hav- 
ing known of the railway accident, she had the discretion 
to make no outcry at sight of the burden they bore between 
them;. noiselessly, and without a word, she preceded them 
to the spare room, and they laid Elise on the small, clean, 
fresh bed. A messenger was then dispatched for the nearest 
physician ; and Mrs. Murray having called in the assistance 
of her daughter Nancy — a fresh-colored, wholesome girl, 
of much the same age as Elise herself — the two women un- 
dressed their patient, and put her to bed. 

“ Mother, is she dead?” asked the girl, in a low, hushed 
tone. 

* I think not, child,” replied the mother, while she ten- 
derly washed the blood-stains from the death-like face. 

‘ ‘ But I can’t tell — these wounds are like to bleed yet, I 
think, and there seems a faint flicker of the pulse here, but 
I can’t feel the heart at all — it’s like she’s dead, poor 
thing.” 

“And how dreadfully her face is cut, mother, and she so 
pretty. Is she a lady, do you think?” 

“ Well, I canna tell, child, except judging from her 
clothes, an’ they’re fine enough for anything. But there’s 
no name on her underclothing, and no mark on her hand- 
kerchief. It’s but right to open that satchel, if you can 
find a key to fit it, so that we may get a clue to her friends, 


THE CURSE OF DA NGE HE 1 ELD. 


77 


if she has any — and eh, me ! look at this — the poor thing’s 
married, for here’s a wedding ring on her finger. My, but 
her man will be in a bouny way to see her pretty face cut 
up like this, if she lives. ” 

“Surely he wouldn’t be cruel enough to mind that,” said 
Nancy, indignantly, “for she looks just as good as she’s 
pretty. But see this, mother, though her hand is small, it 
doesn’t look like the hand of a lady — see how brown it is, 
and the palm is hard. It seems like a servant’s hand. ” 

“Well, child, nevermind what it’s like, for she looks as 
if she would never open her eyes again. See if you can 
find a key, and open that satchel. ” 

The key of the satchel was found at last, after some 
searching in Elise’s portemonnaie, in the pocket of her 
dress ; but the satchel, being opened and diligently searched, 
yielded not the least atom of information as to its owner’s 
identity — it contained not so much as a scrap of paper on 
which a name of either place or person could be discov- 
ered; and although two or three more handkerchiefs were 
drawn out from its depths, not even an initial marked 
them as indicating their owner’s name. 

“ Mother, here’s a great roll of money !” exclaimed Nancy, 
“ bank bills— oh! ever so many.” 

“ Well, that’s lucky, then, for we can get her the best 
medical care, and without money we couldn’t do it. Bring 
it here, child.” 

Nancy obeyed ; and at the same moment the farmer ap- 
peared at the door, accompanied by the physician, who 
had, fortunately, been captured on his return from the re- 
cent accident, and before he had time to set out on his cus- 
tomary visits. 

He was Dr. Flint, and his name was generally pronounced 
with a smile; for he was well known as the softest-hearted 
man in Canada, and skilful as he was kind and gentle. He 
now proceeded to examine Elise, as tenderly as if she had 
been his daughter. Her wounds were carefully dressed; 
but her face continued as ghastly as when she was first 
brought in, and the faint pulsation at the wrist was so 
feeble as scarcely to be felt. Dr. Flint looked very grave. 

“ There is concussion of the brain here,” he said, turning 


78 THE CURSE OF DANG ERF I ELD . 

to Mrs. Murray, “and it is very doubtful whether she will 
ever recover from the stupor. . However, we can but do 
our best. The patient is young, and there is about her 
the appearance of great vitality.” 

Elise did not die, although for days and weeks she trem- 
bled on the brink and it seemed as if a breath w r ould blow 
her into eternity. All her magnificent black hair was cut 
off, and Mrs. Murray folded it away in soft tissue paper, 
and dropped a tear among the raven tresses as she did 
so. The unfortunate girl was delirous, day and night, for 
a fortnight. 

She raved of everything, except her own affairs — she re- 
peated entire passages from books she had read. She 
rambled over disconnected romances of her own imagin- 
ing. She talked of, and to, personages of fiction, and 
seemed to think them real end to be surrounded by them; 
but never, from first to last, did she utter her own name 
or Edgar’s, or that of any other person whom she had ever 
known. 

Mrs. Murray and Nancy, who had been the most faithful 
and devoted of nurses, could gain nothing from their 
patient’s ravings to gratify their pardonable curiosity as to 
who she was, whence she came, or whither she was going; 
and so they were fain to wait until she should be sufficiently 
recovered to give a coherent account of herself . But this 
prospect began to grow dim; for though Elise was rapidly 
recovering in physical condition — and, indeed, grown quite 
strong and ate with a hearty appetite, it seemed as if her 
mind was a blank. She either lay hour after hour looking 
at her hands and playing with her fingers, turning her 
wedding-ring around and around for hours at a time, or else 
raved disconnected and incoherent nonsense. The worst 
feature in her condition now was sleeplessness — night after 
night she lay awake, with wide-open, unwinking ej^es fixed 
upon the candle-light, sleepless through all the watches of 
the night. The Murrays were unceasing in their attention, 
but still it had been necessary to have a professional nurse 
from the nearest town, because of the constant watching 
necessary during the night. 


THE CURSE OF DA NOERFIELD. 


79 


One morning, when Mrs. Murray came into the kitchen 
at the early hour customary in that household, she found 
the nurse dozing in a chair by the window, and she brought 
her to a condition of wakefulness in a somewhat abrupt 
manner. 

“The sick lady is fast asleep, ma’am,” the woman ex- 
plained, apologetically. 

“The Lord be thanked!” ejaculated the good woman, 
fervently. “ How long has she slept?” 

‘ ‘All night, ma’am— she fell into a quiet sleep about ten 
o’clock, and has slept like a baby all night.” 

Elise slept all the day, and when Dr. Flint called in the 
evening, she was still wrapt in profound slumber. 

“ Let her be in no way disturbed,” said the pleased physi- 
cian, and he was obeyed. So Elise slept all the night. But 
when, at noon of the next day, she still showed no sign of 
waking, Mrs. Murray grew alarmed, and sent for Dr. Flint, 
He came about the middle of the afternoon, and found the 
girl still soundly sleeping. He felt her pulse, and looked 
critically at the pale face, which, although no longer thin, 
had never recovered its bloom. 

“ The case is a very curious one,” he said, turning to Mrs. 
Murray. “With your permission, I will stay here till the 
patient wakes, or — ah — um — I shall tell you, perhaps, that 
she will either awaken clear and rational in mind, or else 
she will pass away gently in sleep, probably the latter, poor 
child! probably the latter.” 

So Dr. Flint remained, and Mrs. Murray, who was too 
anxious to sleep, insisted on taking the nurse’s place, and 
together they watched all night beside the sleeping girl. 
About two o’clock, a strange- change was visible in Elise. 
During her long sleep, her appearance had been natural, 
and she seemed to slumber peacefully and calmly. But now 
her face grew rigid, her lips turned livid, and the usual 
paleness of her complexion increased to the pallor of death ; 
her pulse could not be felt, she«did not seem to breathe, and 
a mirror held before her lips showed no perceptible dim- 
ness of the surface. 

“She is dying,” whispered Mrs. Murray, “or is she 
dead.” 


80 


THE CURSE OF DAJSTGERFIELD. 


Dr. Flint merely shook his head, but never removed his 
gaze from the white, rigid face. 

Hour followed hour slowly, and toward five o'clock came 
another change. The hard, tense expression of the face re- 
laxed, the features assumed a natural look, a faint pink 
tinged the lips, a pearly dew broke out on the white brow, 
and, with a long sigh, the great dark eyes slowly unclosed. 
Their gaze was no longer wild or rambling, but full of won- 
der, as it searched the anxious faces bent over her. 

“ How do you feel, my dear?” asked Mrs. Murray. 

“ I am quite well, thank you, but I don’t know where I 
am. Everything is strange.” 

“You are with very good people, my child,” said Dr 
Flint. “You have been very ill, and but for your kind 
nurses, you would have died.” 

Elise snatched her hand from the gentle clasp that held it, 
and a look of anguish and despair convulsed her face. 

“I remember now, ” she cried, “ I remember everything! 
And there was an accident to the train, and I was not kill- 
ed. I wanted to die — I prayed to die. Oh, why could you 
not let me die? I would have died if you had left me alone. 
Oh, my God ! Why do I live — why do I live?” 

She wrung her hands, and burst into a wild passion of 
tears. Mrs. Murray was quite broken-hearted, and neither 
knew how to comfort her nor how to bear reproaches for 
all she had done in kindness. 

“Let her weep,” said Dr. Flint. “It will do her no 
harm.” 

Elise’s rain of tears was soon over. She sat up in bed, 
and asked, abruptly : 

“Am I much disfigured?” Her voice, that was naturally 
sweet, sounded harsh and stern. 

“Don’t be thinking of that now, dear,” said the motherly 
woman, in a soothing manner. “ Surely no one will think 
of it — your friends will be too happy to have you alive.” 

Elise laughed harshly ; 'then catching sight of the little 
mirror which had been used to learn if she still lived, she 
snatched it up, and peered into it. 

For some moments she looked at her own reflection as if 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 81 

ifc had been the face of a stranger, then dropping the glass 
with a scream, she covered her face with her hands. 

“Take it away— take it away !” she cried. “ Is that me 
— that scarred, deformed, hideous face? Oh, never let me 
look on it again ! Yet what need I care? To him I was no 
longer beautiful — what does it matter how I look to 
others?” 

She lay back upon the pillow, quietly, without another 
word, and turned her face to the wall. 

Dr. Flint and Mrs. Murray sadly looked at her and at 
each other, then left the room. 

Elise continued strong ; youth and an excellent constitu- 
tion asserted themselves, and would not be overcome. She 
grew well and strong in spite of her own wishes. But she 
would have nothing to say to anyone. Mrs. Murray invited 
her confidence, but the girl was deaf to the voice of kind- 
ness ; her heart was dead. 

“Where are your friends, my dear?” Mrs. Murray asked. 

“ I have no friends.” 

“ What is your name, then — you shall tell me that?” 

“ I have no name.” 

‘ ‘ But you have a home somewhere— you must let us 
write to your people.” 

‘ ‘ I have neither home nor people. Please ask me no more 
questions— I am going away soon.” 

On the next day Elise appeared at the breakfast table, 
fully dressed for traveling, her hat on, and her satchel in 
her hand. Remonstrance or entreaty was in vain. She 
was determined to go — and go she would. She ate break- 
fast, then drew her veil close about her, and arose from the 
table. 

“ What day of the month is it?” she asked. 

Nancy answered : 

“It is the first of June, ma’am,” and the young girl 
looked wistfully at the other girl, and tears arose to her 
eyes at the sight of that wasted and embittered life. 

“And I have been here since the 8th of May — more than 
three weeks! Where is he now?’* thought Elise, with a 
groan of anguish. She turned to Mrs. Murray. 


82 


THE CURSE OF DAN GERFIELD. 


“I wish I could thank you as I ought,” she said, “ for all 
that you have done in kindness for me, but I cannot. Try 
to forgive me. ” 

Mrs. Murray brought forward a large roll of bills, and 
gave them to Elise. 

“ It is all there just as we found it, except what we paid 
for doctors, and the nurse.” 

“And 1 hope you will let me pay you, too, for your 
trouble?” 

“No, I cannot do that— but there is someting I kept for 
you— I thought you would like to have it, but you won't 
care, perhaps, ’’and she put in her hand the package wrapped 
in tissue paper. Elise took it mechanically, thrust her 
money into the satchel, and turning away, left them all 
staring after her . 

By and by Farmer Murray put on his hat, followed her 
at a distance to the station, and saw her get on board the 
tain of cars that was just leaving. 

Elise reached Toronto in safety, and without adventure. 
During the journey she opened the parcel which Mrs. 
Murray had given her, and found that it contained the 
magnificent tresses of her own luxuriant hair. She opened 
the window beside her, and cast them fiercely out on the 
road, where the wind scattered them, and many happy 
birds carried them away for their new spring houses. Elise 
returned to her home, not expecting to find Edgar there, 
but wishing to learn if he had comeback, and what he had 
said or done on finding her absent. She found nothing but 
ashes where her pretty house had stood, and those who told 
her of the fire told her also how the pretty lady who lived 
there had been burned to death, and the handsome gentle- 
man had been nearly crazed about it when he came home. 
Elise smiled bitterly. Her heart was hard and cold, and 
the description of Edgar’s sorrow stirred no gentle feeling 
within her. 

In the evening she wandered away to the Necropolis, and 
the sexton pointed out to her a grave, and a new tombstone 
which had been that very day placed there, according to 
orders left by Mr. Dangerfield. She read the inscription : 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD, 


88 


Sacred to the Memory of 
Elise Morel 

Beyond that she could not read. Hard, dry sobs shook 
her from head to foot, and she leaned for support against 
the tombstone that bore her name. 

“ Not his wife !” she murmured, “ even in death he could 
not call me his wife.” 

Great large tears rose to her eyes, but they took no pain 
from her heart — they scorched her dry eyelids as they 
overflowed, and seemed to burn a channel as they fell and 
rolled over the sunken, pallid cheeks. 

CHAPTER XI. 

HELEN’S SWEETHEART. 

Edgar and Adelaide returned to their home, after a 
week spent in Philadelphia. Mrs.Dangerfield had original 
ideas in regard to wedding trips, and according to her views, 
the time for the grand marital tour was not immediately 
after the wedding, but at some late and distant day, when 
the parties were beginning to tire of each other, and needed 
variety as a spice to the monotony of life. 

“And at any rate,” said the blooming bride, “where 
should any one go just at this particular time, except to 
Philadelphia — if they must go anywhere.” 

So to Philadelphia they went, and a week of it proved 
sufficient at a time ; so they were glad to return to Danger- 
field. 

The wise man who said that in all affairs of the heart 
there was one who loved, and one who was content to be 
loved, described the case of Edgar and Adelaide exactly. 
He was in love, indeed, more deeply in love than ever; 
while she was graciously and charmingly pleased to be 
loved. So of course she ruled in everything ; her will was 
law, and her wishes were scarcely expressed ere they were 
executed. 

One of Adelaide’s first acts as the mistress of Danger" 
field, was to have the upper front room elegantly and richly 
furnished as a morning room; but as it speedily became 
the favorite apartment of the whole house, it was soon re- 


84 


THE CURSE OF DAmERFIELD. 


garded as a kind of general parlor, where all the family 
were in the habit of assembling, and where favored visi- 
tors were invited when ceremony was unnecessary. 

One morning Edgar, Adelaide, and Helen were seated in 
this room, which commanded a fine view of the garden, 
now radiant in June loveliness, and of the old fashioned 
graveled walk, bordered with box and sweet smelling shrubs, 
which made the approach to the house. The two ladies 
were sewing, and Edgar had been reading to them, but the 
reading had been brought to a close for the present, by a 
remark from Adelaide, apropos of the poem which had been 
read. 

“I can’t agree with the majority of people,” she said, “ in 
their admiration of Launcelot, and their pity for Guinivere. 
To my mind the personage in that poem who calls for the 
loftiest kind of pity and the noblest kind of admiration is 
King Arthur. He was a perfect man.” 

“ A perfect man?” echoed Helen, “what a horrible creat- 
ure !” 

“ No, my dear — you are talking nonsense — if you will al- 
low me to say so. But then you don’t mean it, for you are 
only thoughtless, echoing something that you have heard 
other girls say. The customary stuff that women talk, 
about a man.being much more of a man because he has a 
spice of the devil in his composition, is all idle folly — no 
woman really thinks so, certainly no woman whose opinion 
is good for anything. ‘ The blameless, king,’ Arthur was 
called — and he was ‘blameless,’ not from weakness, as so 
many people seem to fancy, but from strength ; because he 
was too noble to do anything else. It was just like Guini- 
vere to prefer Launcelot, because she hadn’t brains enough 
to appreciate her own husband’s superiority ; and that is 
why I can never feel very sorry for her, although it is a fine 
love-story, and one’s sympathy is expected to go with the 
losers, right or wrong.” 

Edgar listened in silent dismay. For that moment he 
would have given half the years of his life to have been 
such a man as Adelaide was praising. A swift, sharp pang 
shot through his heart — an undefined feeling of jealousy of 
the “blameless king,” so unlike himself, and of whom his 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 85 

wife spoke with an enthusiasm more like love than he had 
ever yet heard from her. 

“You are rather hard, my darling,” he said, playfully; 
“could you make no allowance for a poor fellow, for in- 
stance, who might be so much in love with yourself as to 
forget everything else in the world?” 

“I’m afraid not,” laughed Adelaide. “I should not be 
able to consider myself as a sufficient excuse for such ill- 
conduct.” 

Edgar silently resolved that his wife must never learn 
anything in regard to Elise. 

“But, Helen,” continued Adelaide, “ to shift the conversa- 
tion to a less lofty theme, don’t you think it strange that I 
should have received not a single answer to my advertise- 
ment?” 

“ Not so Very strange, considering the requirements you 
specified — ‘ a waiting maid who has not the least claim to 
good looks ; who will promise never to speak French ; who 
perfectly understands, and who is ready to sign a written 
agreement that nothing will induce her to think of matri- 
mony while she is in your service.’ It may be long enough, 
I should think, before you find one to answer that descrip- 
tion.” 

“ Well, ” returned the fair bride, musingly, “I will own 
that my desires sound a trifle exacting; but that is the 
article I require, and I must have it — or none. I shall keep 
my advertisement in print till it brings the required an- 
swer. But who is this? Surely I recognize a familiar form 
coming up the walk! Ah, you are too late, my dear,” as 
Helen ran toward the window, “he has now disappeared 
within the front porch. But be patient for a few moments,” 
she added, laughing mischievously, “if it is he, of course 
he will presently be announced, and in the meantime I 
would not agitate your maiden heart by breathing his 
name for fear of disappointing you.” 

Helen retreated to her seat on the lounge, and a faint 
pink stole into her cheek at her sister’s nonsense. At the 
same moment a servant entered, and Mrs. Dangerfield took 
the card she brought, and glanced at the name. 

“Show the gentleman up here, Mary,” she said, and turn- 


86 THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD, 

ing to Helen, as the girl left the room, she called out mer- 
rily : 

“ There, dear, didn’t I tell you he wouldn’t give you up 
so?” 

“Who is it, then?” inquired Edgar. 

“Why, Helen’s sweetheart, of course,” returned Ade- 
laide, in a low tone, for she had heard approaching foot- 
steps, and the door was thrown open to admit a tall, hand- 
some man, of about middle age, whose dark curling hair 
was just touched with silver here and there, although liis 
fine, clear complexion was not yet past its youthful fresh- 
ness. He was faultlessly dressed, and his appearance was 
what is generally described as distinguished. 

Mrs. Dangerfield came forward, and welcomed him most 
cordially ; and as Helen could not keep down a treacherous 
blush that would rise to her cheek, Adelaide, to give her 
time, turned to Edgar. 

“Dear,” she said, “this is the gentleman of whom you 
have heard me speak so often, Mr. McGrath— he did us such 
a service on our first visit to Philadelphia. Mr. McGrath, 
this is my husband, Mr. Edgar Dangerfield.” 

The gentlemen approached and shook hands. Mr. McGrath 
remarked : 

“We are old — acquaintances, Mr. Dangerfield and my- 
self; and for my part, I am very glad we meet again.” 

“I am delighted, sir, to welcome you to my father’s 
house,” said Edgar, compelling himself with all the strength 
of will he possessed to speak in a slow and even tone. “My 
father will be here soon, and as glad as I am to welcome 
you.” 

“Why, Edgar, you didn’t tell us that you knew Mr. 
McGrath?” exclaimed Adelaide, looking from one to the 
other of the two men, in surprise. 

“My darling, how could I? You never spoke of the 
gentleman as Mr. McGrath ; but always as ” 

“Oh, Mr. McGrath ! how do you do?” said Helen, coming 
forward hastily, “these good people have quite forgotten 
me — but I hope you haven’t?” 

Mr. McGrath gallantly replied that such a freak of 
memory would be impossible to any one, but particularly 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


87 


so to him, while Adelaide caught her husband’s arm con- 
vulsively, and drew him into the farthest corner of the 
room. 

“Oh, you dear, stupid fellow,” she whispered, “another 
moment, and you would have said we always spoke of him 
as Helen’s sweetheart ! Do have a little consideration. ” 

Edgar, grateful for the diversion he had succeeded in 
making, gladly remained in the distant corner where his 
wife had drawn him, and while he listened to the low mnr- 
mur of her conversation, gathered his scattered faculties, 
and thought over the possibilities of his present very trying 
situation. Lawyer McGrath — Elise’s lawyer— actually in 
the same house with him, and probably to be domiciled as a 
guest, for some unknown time — what were the possible 
consequences? 

Anything— everything, most terrible to the happiness of 
his future, unless they at once came to a distinct under- 
standing with each other. For the present moment, of 
course, he was safe — he had just been told by Adelaide that 
she was now his wife — and, being a lawyer, of course, he 
would be silent ; and whatever he might do, it would not 
be done in a hurry. On the other hand, why should Mr. 
McGrath wish to injure him at all? — he had been guilty of 
nothing except the indecorum of marrying too speedily 
after his first wife’s death— for of course the lawyer must 
be aware of Elise’s sad fate. Would it not be better to throw 
himself on the lawyer’s generosity in regard to keeping all 
knowledge of Elise’s secret from Adelaide, which was his 
only trouble? and to make it to McGrath’s interest to be 
friendly, Edgar determined to engage him for his own 
lawyer, and give him the full direction of his Canadian 
affairs. His heart grew lighter as he reached this conclu- 
sion, and the more he dwelt on it, the more easy and 
matter-of-course it seemed. McGrath knew of Elise’s death 
— therefore he knew that Edgar was heir to the property 
which had become hers ; and how easily it could be made 
to the lawyer’s interest to so manage the affair that Edgar 
could take possession without occasioning any scandal or 
newspaper talk. He breathed quite freely, now, a weight 
seemed lifted from his breast, and a tightness and compres- 


88 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


sion about the throat which had almost kept him from 
speaking, disappeared. He chatted and laughed with his 
wife, and then presently left the room in search of his 
father. 

Colonel Dangerheld’s greeting to his guest was hearty 
and sincere. 

“ Of course you have come to stay with us for a time?” 
he added. 

“ For a few days, if you will allow me, sir, I shall be 
most happy to avail myself of your hospitality. Business 
has brought me into this locality — business about the affairs 
of a client of mine ; and since you are so good I shall make 
your house my headquarters. It will really accommodate 
me very much to do so.” 

“ That’s right,” Colonel Dangerfield replied. “ There are 
few men whom I could make as welcome.” 

Mr. McGrath bowed his thanks, but it is to be feared he 
felt no twinge of conscience at the business which had 
brought him there. He was an honorable gentleman — but 
then, you see, he was also a lawyer. 

While he talked with them all, he managed to direct 
most of his glances toward Adelaide. 

“ By heavens! she is magnificent,” thought the lawyer. 

‘ 1 1 admired her first when I saw her in Philadelphia ; but 
here, in her own home, she is superb. Poor little Eb.se ! it 
is no wonder the sight of her blotted out your pretty face. 
And that scamp adores her. Yes, he’s quite in earnest ; he 
worships the woman, and yet she isn’t in love with him, 
either, though she doesn’t know it. The punishment will 
be all he deserves, if she ever learns the truth; — while for 
her — By heaven! I’m sorry for the girl. It will quench the 
light in those proud eyes if she ever learns that she is only 
Edgar Dangerfield’s — bah! I can’t even think the word. I 
shouldn’t in the least wonder if she kills the villain, and 
serve him right, too !” 

Edgar took the first favorable opportunity of speaking 
with the lawyer. It was after dinner, and as they walked 
in the garden, smoking an evening cigar. He was careful 
to look about and assure himself that there was no danger 
of eavesdroppers, and then he came to the subject at once, 


80 


THE CURSE OF DANQERFIELD. 

“ Mr. McGrath, I suppose you were surprised to find me 
married again — so soon? 

The lawyer smiled. 

“ One could scarcely feel much surprise, Mr. Dangerfield, 
after seeing the lady.” 

“Ah! thank you for taking that view of it. My wife’s 
beauty and goodness are, I think, a sufficient excuse for 
almost anything.” 

“Quite so— quite so,” assented the lawyer. 

“ Poor little Elise! I suppose Allan told you the particu- 
lars of her terrible death?” 

“Poor child — poor child! The burning house!— yes, I 
heard of it.” 

“ I asked Allan to inform you. I could not write about it 
at the time. It was too shocking.” 

“Very — very shocking, indeed! The feeling did you 
credit.” 

“But, Mr. McGrath,” Edgar began, somewhat hesitating- 
ly , “ as a man of the world and my legal adviser, if you will 
be so good, of course you will understand my feelings when 
I beg that Mrs . Dangerfield may remain in ignorance of my 
previous marriage ?” 

“ Oh, my dear Mr. Dangerfield, be quite at ease on that 
subject. I flatter myself I am a man of discretion.” 

He bowed profoundly, with his hand on his heart, and 
Edgar thanked him. 


CHAPTER XII. 

MRS. DANGERFIELD’S NEW MAID. 

Mr. McGrath was assigned a room in the western wing 
of the house, seldom used, and from Helen he received the 
laughing information it was haunted. 

“By an angel, if the ghost is feminine — judging by the 
rest of the ladies in the house,” returned the gallant lawyer. 

“Well, by this time I daresay she may be, although she 
had the reputation of being quite the reverse when she was 
on earth . She was my great-grandmother, and a dreadfully 
cross old lady.” 

“ How unlike her fair descendant !” exclaimed the lawyer, 


90 


TEE CURSE OF DAKGERFTELD. 


as he took his candle from her hand, and with a general 
“good-night,” retired to his room. 

And there, as he unpacked his small traveling- valise, and 
carefully laid out his snowy linen, he also drew from the 
bottom of the lag a letter. It was written in the round, 
school-girl hand of a person not yet proficient in the art of 
chirography ; but Mr. McGrath had no difficulty in making 
out its contents, for the handwriting was familiar to him. 

Toronto, June 3d. 

“My Dear Friend: — If you have wondered at not hear- 
ing from me sooner, know that it was because I have been 
at the point of death since the morning I bade you good-by. 
Oh, why did I not die? I was greatly hurt in the railroad 
accident of that day, but unfortunately I was not killed. I 
arrived here three days ago, and I find that he believes me 
dead — I am supposed to have been burned to death in my 
house which was burned down the evening of the day I 
went to Montreal. From what I hear, I suppose the woman 
who was killed was my unfortunate servant, who must 
have been dressed in my clothes. He is already married 
again— I saw his marriage to that woman, his cousin, in an 
American paper of this date. Oh, how do I live? but I don’t 
feel that I am alive — I feel like a human machine, who has 
but one hope, one wish, one idea left; and that is to get 
back my marriage certificate, and to be revenged on the 
woman who has robbed me of my husband. If he did not 
destroy it at once, I feel sure that he will not destroy it now 
at all, because there is no occasion, and it will be of value to 
him. How I am to proceed in order to recover it I don’t 
know — but there must be a way, and I will find it out. In 
the meantime, my will is made — for should I yet die, or be 
killed before I regain possession of that paper, he shall not 
profit by my death. The will is properly drawn out and 
attested by a lawyer in this city, whom you know, and who 
has orders to give it to you. I have made you, dear friend, 
my heir, for it seemed just to me, that you, who have been 
my best friend, and have worked so hard for me, should 
reap such benefit as there may be to come from my death. 
I have a presentiment that I will not live long — I live now 
only to redeem the honor of my name, and to be revenged 


THE CURSE OF DANOERFIELD. 


91 


on the woman I hate. When I have any news of import- 
ance to communicate I will write. 

“ Faithfully yours, 

“ Elise Dangerfield.” 

Something very like a tear glistened in McGrath’s eye 
w r hen he folded up the letter again and returned it to its 
place. He carefully locked up his valise, and with a grim 
smile, placed the key under his pillow. 

“I am a light sleeper Edgar Dangerfield,” he said to him- 
self. “ I don’t think you will abstract any papers from me. 
The scoundrel — I have no doubt but he has the certificate 
safe enough — his confidential talk to me is a sufficient proof 
of that; and before long he will tell me of it, for I see plain- 
ly enough what he's driving at.” 

Lawyer McGrath judged Edgar correctly; before the 
close of the next day he broached the subject of Elise’s in- 
heritance. 

“Very true, ’’said the lawyer, having listened attentively 
to all he had to say, “ what you say is correct enough, Mr. 
Dangerfield, you are the unfortunate girl’s heir; but un- 
happily there is no proof of your marriage with her, and 
although I know of her marriage to you, I also am without 
a written proof of it.” 

‘ ‘ But I have the proof, Mr. McGrath — all the proof that 
is necessary — I have her marriage certificate,” said Edgar, 
eagerly. 

“Ah, is it possible? Then it was not destroyed. I sup- 
posed, of course, it had been burned up in the fire.” 

“ It w-ould have been,” returned Edgar, with an effort of 
brazen impudence, looking the lawyer straight in the face, 
“had not Elise given it to me the night before. I had some 
idea of breaking the nevrs of my marriage to my father by 
showing him the certificate, and having it over at once.” 

Never in his life had McGrath found such difficulty in 
maintaining an unchanged expression of countenance. 
But he returned, quietly : 

“ That would have been breaking the news with a venge- 
ance — a complete smash, I should say. However, it is most 
fortunate that you have the necessary proof of your past 
marriage — that makes everything comparatively easy.” 


92 


THE CURSE OF DAN GERFIELD. 


“ It is safe, and will remain so: but I don’t care to push 
the matter at present. As soon as I am ready to move in 
the affair I will come to you in Montreal, and bring the 
paper with me. ” 

Mr. McGrath was disappointed, for he had hoped to get 
Elise’s certificate into his possession before he left the house ; 
but he saw that it would be dangerous to urge the matter, 
for fear of rousing Edgar's suspicions, for it was clearly 
evident that he absolutely trembled, for the present, at let- 
ting the paper out of his possession, and risking the most 
remote chance of Adelaide discovering its existence. But 
McGrath’s chief object was gained in finding that the cer- 
tificate was safe — that it would remain so was a matter of 
course; and being now looked upon by Edgar as his legal 
adviser, he felt quite sure that the paper would ultimately 
come into his hands. 

He improvised various expeditions for himself in and 
about Dangerfield, and a day or two afterward announced 
that his business was completed, and that he must return 
to Montreal. Every one was loud in expressions of regret ; 
but Edgar was really glad to have him go. Mrs. Danger- 
field, however, invited him cordially to visit them again at 
his earliest convenience, for Mr. McGrath had the ability 
to make himself an interesting and welcome guest. While 
he still stood making adieux , a servant appeared, and in a 
low tone, said to Adelaide: 

“A young woman as wants to see you, ma'am— she says 
she’s come about the advertisement.” 

“Oh, an applicant at last!” exclaimed Adelaide, turning 
to Helen. “Very well, Mary, show the young woman up 
to my room, and take care of her there till I come.” 

Mr. McGrath cut short his adieux , took up his valise, and 
bowed himself out of the room. Edgar, who had volun- 
teered to drive him to the depot, preceded him, and as he 
ran rapidly down stairs almost tumbled over a young wo- 
man who was slowly ascending them. She was dressed in 
somber black, and heavily veiled. Lawyer McGrath, who 
followed Edgar in a more subdued manner, turned for a 
moment as he passed the young woman on the stairs, and 
looked after her. 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


“Now, that is strange,” he thought, “ but there is some- 
thing familiar in that girl’s figure and movement. I wish 
I could have seen her face.” 

He continued his way down-stairs, and the object of his 
thoughts continued her way to Mrs. Dangerfield’s room, as 
she had been directed. But if Lawyer McGrath could have 
seen that veiled face uncovered, he would have found it far 
less familiar than the figure had seemed. 

Mrs. Dangerfield did not keep the new arrival waiting. 
She went to her room at once, feeling some curiosity to see 
what this applicant, who answered such an unusual adver- 
tisement, was like. She found Mary in the hall, apparent- 
ly guarding the door ; and when she entered the room, she 
found the new-comer standing almost in the middle of the 
room, the light from the window striking directly on her 
face, for she had put aside her veil. 

Mrs. Dangerfield almost started, and felt something like a 
thrill of repugnance as her glance fell upon that face. The 
girl was certainly peculiar-looking. She was not merely 
pale, but pallid— of a grey, ashen pallor, like death. Her 
very lips were pale, thin, and closely compressed ; and across 
the upper one ran a deep line that might have been a scar, 
but which produced the effect of a hare-lip ; across one lip 
ran a deep, livid scar, completely destroying a contour 
which must originally have been both delicate and pretty. 
A similar scar disfigured one side of the forehead, and 
spoiled the line of the eyebrow. Of the whole face— which, 
notwithstanding its ugliness, seemed to suggest previous 
beauty — but one feature remained attractive. The eyes 
were large, long, and very dark, but their expression 
was strange— they fixed themselves on Mrs. Dangerfield 
with a hard, steely glare, that seemed to go through her like 
a knife. 

“ She will never do,” thought the lady, “ whatever her ac- 
complishments as a waiting-maid may be, if she stares at 
me in that way.” 

She motioned her to a seat, and then, taking a chair at 
some distance, continued her observations of her personal 
appearance while she questioned her, from time to time 


94 


THE CURSE OF I) ANGER FIE LB. 


looking at her attentively, and then glancing away through 
the window as she spoke. 

“ It is in answer to the advertisement that you come?” she 
asked. 

“ Yes, madam.” 

The voice was clear and distinct, but hard and cold. 

“ What is your name?” 

“ Hanna Dexter.” 

“ Have you been a servant long?” 

“For thirteen years, madam.” 

“ Dear me ! So long— you don’t look very old.” 

“ I am twenty-one, madame.” 

“Oh, then you must have begun at a very early age,” 
with a slight smile. 

“I began at a very early age, madam,” in a low, harsh 
voice, the girl answered. 

“Then of course you are quite experienced, Hanna? ” 

“I think you will find me so, madam, if you will be good 
enough to engage me. I am quite experienced as a lady’s 
maid ; I can sew well, and I can dress hair very well.” 

“ I suppose you have brought references? ” 

“This is my reference from the last place— it is from a 
well-known hair-dresser in New York City. I was there 
but a short time; but I can give other references, if ne- 
cessary. 

“This is quite sufficient.” returned Mrs. Dangerfield, as 
she read the paper, “since I happen to know this person. 
You are aware that I am particular in other matters besides, 
proficiency. You mustn’t speak French.” 

“ I never speak French, madam.” 

“And you must promise not to marry, or become engaged 
while you are in my service,” Mrs. Dangerfield added, 
laughing. 

“I shall never marry, madam,” Hanna Dexter returned, 
gravely. 

Then you may consider yourself engaged, for the present. 

I will try how we get along together for a month.” 

“ Thank you, madam— I would like to ask for two priv- 
ileges before I am absolutely engaged. I must have a room 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


95 


to myself ; and I would like to have a couple of hours quiet 
to myself, one day each week.” 

“Well, that’s reasonable enough, Hanna, and as' for your 
room— the house is large enough— you can have a room to 
yourself. Is that all? ” 

“ Thank you, madam, that is all.” 

“Very well; Mary,” Mrs. Dangerfield called, and the 
girl, who was still in the hall, entered. “You will take 
Hanna to the little room in the western wing — that is to be 
her room ; and Hanna, you will come to me an hour from 
now to dress my hair. I shall not want you sooner. 

Hanna bowed, and followed her fellow-servant from the 
room. 

“ What a very strange looking person!” Mrs. Dangerfield 
thought. 4 4 She is unlike enough to her predecessors. 
What a curious effect her blonde hair and eyebrows have 
with those dark eyes, and such a brunette skin ; and why 
does her face haunt me as if I had seen it somewhere, un- 
der very painful circumstances? But, pshaw! that is im- 
possible nonsense !” 

When Mrs. Dangerfield’s new maid entered, at the ap- 
pointed hour, to dress her mistress for dinner, Adelaide was 
even more struck with her appearance. 

Her close-fitting black dress showed a slight figure, thin 
almost to attenuation; she wore a pretty, white muslin 
cap, which quite concealed her hair except just a rippling 
line across the brow of a very blonde, indeed, a pale straw 
color, and the contrast with her eyes, and dark pallor, was 
very marked. Edgar, who was present, did not look at 
Hanna at all, for he seldom looked at servants, whom he 
regarded as mere domestic machines. Apparently the new 
maid did not see her new master, either, being wholly oc- 
cupied in brushing out the rich, nut-brown tresses of her 
mistress, and arranging them in a superb classic coil at the 
back of her head. Edgar stood on the opposite side of his 
wife’s chair, one arm leaning on the back of it, while he 
spoke to her in low, lover-like tones. When the toilet was 
completed, he led her to a long mirror, and she glanced 
into it, and nodded at her own reflection. That one loo!; 
convinced her that her new maid was a treasure, 


96 


THE CURSE OF DANGER FIELD. 


“Yes, she will do,” thought Adelaide, “when she gets 
over that dreadful habit of staring at me.” 

She placed her hand on Edgar’s arm, and they went 
down to dinner. As the fair woman’s trailing and glisten- 
ing robes disappeared, and the door closed after her, the 
waiting-maid’s eyes blazed as if they actually shot forth 
flame; but as she turned toward the chair where Edgar’s 
arm had leaned a sudden mist clouded them. She bent 
her head with a long, dry sob, and. pressed her scarred and 
livid lips passionately against the crimson velvet where his 
hand had rested. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

THE SHADOW OF THE CURSE. 

One day a trifling accident caused Edgar Dangerfield to 
observe his wife’s maid ; it was the first time he had looked 
at her, and as he did so, he was conscious of a vague sensa- 
tion of alarm. Why he should feel alarmed because a pale, 
dark-eyed girl met his glance with a look that seemed not 
even to see him, was surprising and discomfiting ; and with 
his characteristic dislike of anything that was unpleasant? 
Edgar dismissed the feeling. But in the course of the day 
it returned again and again ; and when Hanna was in the 
same room with him, as often happened, for Edgar was 
nearly always with Adelaide, the shadow of some impend- 
ing calamity seemed to fall upon him. He took occasion to 
look at the girl more observingly than he had yet done. 
What was there about this thin, pale, slender young woman 
that impressed him as being strangely familiar? had lie 
ever seen her before? He could have sworn that he had 
never beheld her until her appearance beneath this roof — 
then what was it about her that haunted him with that 
curious, that strangely familiar look, as if of some one he 
had seen a thousand times — some one who had been often 
near to him?— ah, it was the eyes! He recognized it sud- 
denly — they were strangely like, and yet unlike, the eyes 
of Elise! That unfortunate girl! He had forgotten her — 
yes, except when something, as for instance, the unexpect- 
ed appearance of McGrath, occurred to bring the past fore- 


THE CURSE OF DA NGERFIELD. 


97 


ibly to his memory. Edgar had forgotten that Elise had 
ever existed; but, now, looking at the waiting-maid, he 
could see that her eyes had the color and the peculiar shape 
of the dead woman’s. How confoundedly provoking ! He 
should never be able to see the girl, now, without being re- 
minded of Elise — it was too bad, and he was determined not 
to stand it. But why should he? — Adelaide could get 
another waiting-maid — the article was sufficiently plenty ; 
why should he be annoyed with the presence of one that 
was unpleasant to him? 

“Adelaide,” he said, when Hanna presently left the room 
on an errand for her mistress, “I don’t like that girl— I 
wish you would get rid of her.” 

“Get rid of Hanna? Why, Edgar, what has she done to 
you?” 

“I didn’t say that she had done anything,” returned 
Edgar, peevishly, “ I don’t like her looks; that’s all.” 

“Well, she is peculiar looking,” Mrs. Dangerfield assent- 
ed, “but then, surely my waiting-maid is not bound to 
please you with her looks, sir!” she continued, playfully; 
“ if I am satisfied, surely that should be enough.” 

“ Are you satisfied, then?” 

“ Entirely. I never was half so much pleased with any 
maid — she’s a perfect treasure. I don’t have to tell her 
what to do, even — she seems to know intuitively.” 

“ Then, of course, it would be useless to beg you to part 
with such a treasure merely to please me,” said Edgar, not 
prepared for the answer, however. 

“Quite useless,” laughed Adelaide. 

Edgar bit his lips with vexation ; and Elise having been 
so recently in his thoughts, he remembered for one fleeting 
instant with what loving devotion she would have sacri- 
ficed anything or anybody to his lightest whim. He 
thought his wife selfish and unkind to refuse him the first 
favor he had ever asked ; but he was still far too much in 
love to say so, and not wishing to make matters worse he 
presently left the room to avoid saying an angry word in 
reply. 

Adelaide looked after him with a pitying smile. 

“Poor Edgar!” she thought; “now is he really such a 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


goose as to be angry? If be had asked me some great and 
difficult service of me, how gladly I would have done it. 
But to expect of me to discharge the most perfect waiting 
maid in the world merely to satisfy a whim — pshaw ! it is 
too ridculous !” 

If Edgar considered he had sufficient cause for dissatis- 
faction with his wife, he had quite forgotten it by dinner 
time; and he entered her room to lead her down to dinner 
with all his customary lover-like devotion. But the sight 
of Hanna adorning her mistress’ hair with lovely crimson 
roses seemed to remind him again of a subject that did not 
add to his comfort ; and although the girl did not look up, 
there was still some familiar appearance and the same sug- 
gestion of Elise about her. 

Edgar sat down sulkily, and regarded H&nna with a 
fixed, angry look. 

She was, indeed, peculiar— ugly and repulsive, Edgar 
thought her. Why should she remind him of Elise, who 
had been sweet and pretty, poor little thing, in her day? 
This girl was pallid as a corpse, with scarred, disfigured 
countenance, and hair of a pale straw color. Elise had 
been blooming as a rose, with a fresh, round, baby face, and 
magnificent black hair, whose beauty and luxuriance even 
outshone that of the queenly Adelaide. This girl, too, was 
as thin as a skeleton, with none of the graceful curves 
and rounded outlines of Elise’s rounded figure — above all, 
Elise was dead and sleeping in her quiet grave, happily for 
, him, more happilly still for herself. What stupid fancy 
bad led him to find in this hideous waiting-maid any resem- 
blance to that ill-fated girl? Pooh! It was ridiculous, al- 
though the eyes had that strange resemblance; but there 
was nothing supposing in it, since nature was full of such 
repetitions. 

Hanna trembled under his fixed stare, and the roses 
dropped from her fingers. Edgar started forward and 
raised them from the carpet, and as the waiting-maid had 
stooped for the same purpose their hands met for a single 
instant. The girl drew back, as if his hand had been fire, 
and burned her ; she was pale before, but now she became 
ashy white even to her lips, and she trembled convulsively 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 99 

from head to foot. Edgar took no notice of lier. He was 
quite unconscious of having touched her hand. 

“ Go away !” he said, harshly, “you are awkward;” and 
then turning to Adelaide: “ Let me place the roses for you, 
darling,” and with skilful fingers he arranged the flowers 
in her hair, then stooping over her, kissed her cheek, that 
blushed as brightly as the roses. 

Hanna stood by, waiting for her mistress to speak. 

“You may go now,” Mrs. Dangerfield said, taking her 
husband’s arm. 

Hanna obeyed. Once outside the door, she almost flew 
to her own room, the door of which she locked and bolted 
when she entered. She could no longer support her own 
weight, and tottered to the bed, where she fell, a shapeless 
heap, only shaken from time to time with low, deep sobs. 

By and by Hanna’s mood changed. She arose and sat 
erect, fiercely wiping the traces of tears from her face, and 
pushed back the hair from her brow. In doing so she dis- 
placed the white muslin cap from her head, and it fell to 
the floor, and she fiercely stamped upon it, then took it up, 
looking for a moment as if she would tear it to pieces. 

“Fool!” she muttered. “Will I never learn calmness 
and self-control? how often has he told me that it was the 
first lesson a lady should learn ; ha — ha — ha ! and am I not 
a lady now?” 

She carefully smoothed out her white muslin cap, and 
with deft fingers moulded it into shape ; then bathed her 
face, removing all the traces of her recent tears. 

“Come,” she said, with a bitter sneer, “let me look on 
my own loveliness.” 

She stood before the mirror and carefully brushed out 
her short blonde hair; it curled slightly, and clustered in 
pretty, natural waves over her brow and temples. She put 
on her cap, adjusted her collar and cuffs, and settled the 
folds of her white muslin apron. 

“You are a ( fair creature,” she continued, in reckless 
mockery, to her own reflection in the mirror, “a peerless 
rival to the beautiful woman whose hair you could not 
sufficiently adorn with roses. You must be less awk- 
ward, Mistress Hanna, or else you will fail even as a wait- 


ioo THE curse of dangerfield. 

ing-maid! Oh, God! how shall I hear it? Now, fool, what 
are you about again? More tears, more fine feelings ! Away 
with them — they are not for you, Hanna — for you only a 
heart of stone and a face of marble. Or if you must have 
feelings now and then, bury them all here.” 

She unlocked a drawer of her bureau, and drew out a 
black-covered little book, a cheap memorandum book it 
was, and all the front pages were closely covered with writ- 
ing. 

Hanna read over all that was written, and then drew to- 
ward her writing materials, and poured forth on the white 
pages the unuttered anguish of her overflowing heart. 

HANNA’S JOURNAL. 

June 11th, 1876. — This is the end of my third day in Dan- 
gerfield Mansion. My disguise has proved sufficient. It is 
sufficient even to myself — the blonde hair makes a very 
great difference; it would have changed me very much even 
if my face had been as it used to be when he knew it. But 
deformed and scarred as it is, even I can no longer recognize 
it for what it once was. Well, I have seen her — I have 
looked on her till the picture of her lovely face seems burn- 
ed upon my eyeballs. 

She is beautiful — oh, how beautiful, and he adores her! I 
can see that in every look he bends upon her, and I can see 
that he never loved me — no, never ! For he never looked at 
me as I have seen him look at her. At the best I but pleased 
his fancy for a little while. But he would have loved me 
better than any one else, if he had never seen her ; better 
than his fair, sweet sister, better than his proud old father. 
And it is for that I hate her — oh, how I hate her! 

When I am brushing her beautiful hair, or fastening the 
buttons of her grand dresses, my fingers ache and throb 
sometimes to strangle her — to tear the ivory whiteness of 
her skin — to strike with the back of the hair-brush those 
velvety cheeks, soft and fresh as damask-roses. But I can 
do better than that, if I can only learn patience ! 

Ah, yes ! if I can keep down my throbbing, bursting heart, 
so that it will not betray me, I shall yet recover the cer- 
tificate of my marriage with Edgar Dangerfield, and then I 
shall triumph; for with that in my hand I will say; “Now* 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


101 


madam, leave my husband's house— you have had your 
day — my time has come ! Ha ! he loves you, does he ! Very 
likely 1 But I am his wife, you have no legal title to him ! ” 

Oh, for the power to say these words to her — to see that 
haughty brow flush red with shame, and those proud eyes 
sink to the earth before me. Yes, it would be worth all 
that I suffer now — it will be worth all the rest of life to me. 
And that triumph will be mine— I feel that it will be mine ; 
for I am convinced that the certificate of my marriage is 
safe — I could see that it was so when I saw McGrath’s face. 
But where? In this house somewhere, I am sure; and if 
ever patience and perseverance succeeded, they shall 
succeed now ; for I will bear my burden unflinchingly, if I 
have to tear my heart out to do it. 

June 12th. — I am thankful that I learned how to write, 
and how to express my thoughts in writing. But for this 
vent to my feelings my heart would burst. Within this 
hour I nearly betrayed myself, and almost ruined my 
scheme forever. When he spoke those harsh and cruel 
words to me, then turned and kissed that lovely woman, I 
felt that I must scream out: “Not her — not her — Edgar, kiss 
me — I am your wife ! ” oh, I felt that I must say this, or die ! 
But I clinched my teeth and bit my tongue that should be 
silent ; and yet I didn't die ! Oh, howgmuch agony a woman 
can bear and live ! I think nothing can kill me now — for I 
have borne enough to kill ten women. Presently my mis- 
tress, Mrs. Dangerfield — my mistress , Mrs. Dangerfield , oh, 
peace, rebelling heart, don’t play the traitor now, for your 
time will come, it shall come! Well, presently she said 
that I might go, and bade me leave the room ; very gently 
she said it, for she is always a lady, gentle and sweet and 
gracious. And I do hate her for it ; yes, I hate her gentle 
dignified, lady-like ways ; I hate her low, sweet voice : I hate 
her gracious, refined manner, and that lofty air that 
grand folks call good-breeding, for it makes me feel low and 
mean, and just as if I was only fit to be her servant. I used 
to be a good girl once; I did my duty by those I served; I 
only asked that I might have something to love. Edgar 
came to me— I did not seek him ; and when he asked me to 
love him was I so very wrong that I did so? I loved him- 


102 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


oh, poor bleeding heart, how I loved him ! And I know that 
at one kind word, one look, I would love hinragain. But he 
did not look at me at all until to-day; and hen his eyes 
were hard and cruel — I never saw him look like that. And 
when he spoke to me his words, his tones, were like knives 
cutting into my heart. But I will bear it all ; only I must 
bear it better than I did to-day, or else my secret will escape 
me, and already there is something strange in the way 
Edgar looked at me to-day. There was in his eyes an ex- 
pression that looked like recognition ; and not so much that 
as if he was striving to remember ! Surely he cannot sus- 
pect me — no, for he believes me dead. In that belief lies 
my best protection. But I am as far as ever from success 
in the object of my search. I have not yet even discovered 
his keys ; and until I gain possession of them, I cannot begin 
my search. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

A BUNCH OF KEYS. 

A portion of Hanna’s duties was to keep Mrs. Danger- 
field’s bureaus, wardrobes, etc., in order, and for this pur- 
pose she was trusted with the keys — which were required 
of her each night when she retired to her room. Mrs. 
Dangerfield was not an exacting mistress, and Hanna 
usually retired to rest at about ten o’clock, and being a per- 
son who required scant allowance of sleep a great part of 
the night was her own to do with as she pleased. The girl 
read, wrote, or sewed, according as she was disposed, but 
whatever she chose to do, she was pretty certain of never 
being called upon by any member of the family later than 
ten o’clock. With her fellow-servants she was no favorite ; 
for she never exchanged words with them beyond a civil 
salutation in the morning, and an occasional remark at 
meal-time. 

It was evident from the first day that Hanna took charge 
of Mrs. Dangerfield’s apartment that she was in quest of 
something— it was equally evident, after she had examined 
every pocket in every dress ; every drawer in each bureau ; 
every box and jewel-case, every nook, corner, crevice of 
whatever description the room contained, that she could 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 103 

not find it ; and indeed, Hanna scarcely hoped to find what 
she sought among Mrs. Dangerfield’s possessions. It was 
not likely that a husband who had a secret to keep, would 
leave the key of it where his wife could find it. 

Edgar’s dressing-room opened off the sleeping apartment 
to the left side, and Adelaide’s to the right. Of course, 
Hanna was aware of this ; but she had not yet ventured to 
invade Edgar’s private room. She observed even that Mrs. 
Dangerfield did not take such a liberty; but Hanna re- 
frained from different motives. She had not yet had a fit- 
ting opportunity, and she was afraid to make the attempt, 
for, of course, she dared not risk discovery. Edgar, his 
wife and Helen went to New York one day to bid adieu to 
some friends bound for Europe ; and Hanna was left alone 
in Mrs. Dangerfield’s room with orders to change the trim- 
ming on a certain dress to be worn that evening. The 
waiting-maid employed herself on the allotted task long 
enough to feel sure that there was no danger of return on 
the part of her mistress, and then, knowing herself to be 
secure for several hours, she cast away her work, and bold- 
ly approached the door of Edgar’s dressing-room. 

She found it unlocked ; she pushed it and entered, and 
then for over an hour she pursued her search, noiselessly 
and with extreme care. But to a looker-on her proceedings 
must have seemed most strange. She opened and ransack- 
ed all the bureau drawers, at times touching Edgar’s gan 
ments with a gentleness almost reverential, often pressing 
them passionately to her lips, and then thrusting them 
angrily away as if suddenly tempted to rend them to pieces. 
She examined every pocket in each article of wearing ap- 
parel that she took up ; and now and then she found a deli- 
cately-perfumed handkerchief, or a dainty pair of gloves 
belonging to Adelaide, and these articles she thrust back 
again as if a scorpion had stung her. But she found no 
keys, and at last her search ended, leaving her listless, 
hopeless and weary. 

“Everything is against me,” she murmured, “every- 
thing. But I will not give up !” 

She returned to her work, and with closely compressed 
lips bent her face over it, and steadily applied her needle 


104 THE CURSE OF DAN GERFIELD. 

to the task of rearranging Mrs. Dangerfield’s lace trim- 
mings. ^ 

That night, when Adelaide returned and Hanna assisted 
to dress her in the newly trimmed robe, the lady was pro- 
fuse in complimenting the waiting-maid’s skill. It was 
already late, and dinner had been kept much beyond the 
customary hour, so when she was dressed Mrs. Dangerfield 
called out : 

“ Come, Edgar !” and hastened on without waiting for 
him. At the head of the staircase her dress caught in a 
loose stair-rod, and with an involuntary cry she seized the 
baluster. She was neither hurt nor in danger, but Edgar, 
who was only a step behind her, bounded forward and 
caught her in his arms. 

“ My darling!” he cried, in a voice of alarm. 

Hanna glided forward, too, but it was not anxiety for 
her mistress that moved her, although she said : 

“Are you hurt, ma’am?” 

“ Not at all,” returned the lady, as she took her husband’s 
arm, and went merrily down-stairs. Hanna waited, look- 
ing after them, until they had entered the dining-room. 
Then she stooped swiftly and groped on the stairs for some- 
thing. When Edgar had bounded forward, her quick ears 
had detected a rattling fall of something quite distinct from 
the clatter made by the stair-rod. She groped for that 
something now on the first step, then on the second ; and in 
another instant it was in their hands. 

“ I have it!” she thought, exultantly. “It is a bunch of 
keys !” 

To reach her own room and lock herself in was but the 
work of a moment. She knew exactly what to do, for her 
preparations were made in the hope of just what had hap- 
pened ; for she was well aware that at whatever time Edgar’s 
keys might come into her hands, there was no safety in 
keeping them more than five minutes. She counted them 
first; there were five, of various sizes, and all quite differ- 
ent in shape. 

She hastily took an impression on wax, and having as- 
sured herself that each impression was perfect, she put her 
treasure away ; and then carefully examined each separate 


THE CTJRSE OF DANGERFIELD 


105 


key to make quite certain that not the slightest evidence 
remained of what she had done. Being quite satisfied on 
that point, she carried the bunch of keys, and placed them 
in the very spot where she had found them. 

On the following day it chanced that Edgar found him- 
self alone with Hanna. It had not before happened since 
the young woman had been in the house ; and yet it was the 
most simple and natural thing in the world that it should 
happen. Adelaide was one of those ladies who, when she 
had a maid, was entirely dependent on her. If her hair 
required a pin, if her handkerchief needed scent, if she tore 
her glove, her maid was called for; and although Edgar 
was nearly always present, and ready to do any amount of 
waiting on her, it was not sufficient. Hanna’s presence 
seemed indispensable. At present Hanna was sewing a 
button on Mrs. Dangerfield’s riding gauntiet, and that fair 
lady had taken a sudden fancy to try a new song while she 
waited. 

“ This isn’t the one!” she suddenly exclaimed, tossing the 
music from the piano. “ Where is that new song I bought 
yesterday! Now I remember, Helen has it,” and catching 
up her riding skirt over her arm, she ran away for it, be- 
fore Edgar could offer to get it for her. 

It might have been fancy, but Edgar felt, the moment he 
was left alone with Hanna, a return of the same indescrib- 
able chill apprehension which seemed to fall on him like 
the shadow of impending evil the first time he met her 
eyes. 

“What can it be? Perhaps she has the evil eye!” he 
thought. “ If I believed in such superstitions I would be 
inclined to think she was one of that sort. She is a very 
strange looking creature — she doesn’t look like a living 
woman. Her face is corpse-like, and her eyes have a posi- 
tive glare. I’ve seen her look so at Adelaide. And why 
does she remind me of Elise? There is no resemblance, and 
yet I cannot look at her without thinking of the other. 
Had Elise a sister, I wonder? but pshaw! I know right well 
she had not, nor any relative, and this woman doesn’t look 
at all like Elise, either, What keeps Adelaide?” 

He turned to the piano, whistling an air, and keeping 


106 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


time to it on the keys. But something compelled him to 
turn again and look at Hanna, who had finished sewing on 
the button, and stood looking out of the window on to the 
lawn, her face turned in profile toward him ; and though 
the profile was thinner and sharper than he remembered, 
it was unquestionably like that of Elise. He recognized the 
likeness and shuddered. 

“Am I losing my wits about this hideous young woman?” 
he asked himself, for a weird, ghostly idea took possession 
of his fancy. ‘ ‘ Can there be truth in what Pythagoras de- 
clared regarding the transmigration of souls? When I meet 
that girl’s eyes I am half inclined to believe that the soul 
of Elise looks through them to haunt me. Stuff! I am 
growing very tender of conscience considering I have no 
crime to charge myself with. If it is the ghost of Elise 
I will try it,” he thought, recklessly, and turning again to 
the piano, he played the accompaniment to the Canadian 
Boat song, singing the words in a rich, clear voice. 

He had taught the song to Elise in the days of their court- 
ship, and they had often sung it together. 

He kept his gaze fixed on Hanna while he sang : but the 
girl did not move an eyelash, nor, when he said, speaking 
in French : 

“Do you remember the words or the music?” did she 
turn toward him or give the least token of having heard 
him. 

“ Did you hear me, Hanna? I spoke to you,” said Edgar, 
sharply, in English. 

“Tome, sir?” replied Hanna, turning toward h im . “I 
didn’t hear you, sir.” 

Her voice sounded hard and cold as usual, and her face 
showed no more trace of emotion than a face of marble. 

“You must have heard me, though I spoke in French.” 

“But I never speak French,” returned Hanna. 

“Of course not,” returned Adelaide, entering in time to 
catch the last words . ‘ ‘ Don’t you remember, Edgar, it 

was one of my special stipulations that I would not have a 
maid who spoke French? Have you sewed on the button, 
Hanna? Come, Edgar, the horses are waiting, and impa- 
tient. Hanna, you asked for permission to go to the city ; 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 107 

you may have the afternoon — I shall not need you again 
to-day.” 

“ I wish she might break her neck,” was Edgar’s charita- 
ble thought, as the girl bowed and left the room. “What a 
fool she makes me feel. I hate her. But one thing is cer- 
tain, there is not even the ghost of poor Elise in her, or she 
never could have heard that song unmoved. I believe I am 
half mad to let such absurd fancies enter my heart.” 

Adelaide looked sharply at Edgar when he helped her to 
the saddle. 

“ Is anything the matter, dear?” she asked. “ You really 
look ill.” 

“ It is that confounded maid of yours. I can’t endure the 
woman, Adelaide ; the sight of her makes me sick. I do 
wish you could be induced to send her away, dearest.” 

“Oh! is that all? You mustn’t take such silly fancies, 
Edgar, it is quite impossible for me to get on without Han- 
na. Come, a good canter will put all such nonsense out of 
your head.” 

Edgar touched his horse with the spur, but made no an- 
swer. He mentally determined never again to speak to his 
wife on the subject of the obnoxious servant ; but he also de- 
termined to find a means of getting rid of Hanna. 

It was late in the evening when the waiting-maid return- 
ed from the city, and having been told that her mistress 
would not require her services any farther that day, Haima 
retired to her own room. She dressed herself in a light 
wrapper of a soft, clinging material, which made no sound 
when she moved about ; and having removed her walking 
boots she replaced them with a pair of list slippers. Then 
she read her journal, and made some trifling entries in it. 
She was very calm and composed, much more so than she 
had ever been when alone since she had lived beneath the 
roof of the Dangerfields. 

She drew a letter from the pocket of the dress she had 
worn, and read it two or three times over. She had re- 
ceived it that day, at the address in the city which was 
known to her only correspondent. The letter was very 
short, but afforded her inexpressible relief and satisfaction. 
It read thus : 


108 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


My Poor Child : 

At last I have one crumb of comfort for you. The 
certificate of your marriage still exists, and is safe. You 
were right in your supposition. He expects to inherit your 
property as your husband, and will take good care of the 
necessary proof. I am retained as counsel to work up the 
case. Try to find some little consolation in this, for I as- 
sure you from my heart you shall yet have justice done to 
you. Ever your friend, 

William McGrath. 

Hanna enclosed the letter in her journal, and locked it 
up. She then counted the keys on a blue ribbon which she 
held in her hand. They were five in number, and the 
exact counterpart of Edgar Dangerfield’s keys. She tied 
them loosely and securely together, and hid them within 
the bosom of her dress. Then she put out her candle, and 
lay down on the bed. It was now about eleven o’clock, but 
she didn’t sleep. She lay with wide eyes, watching the 
moonlight steal through the parted curtains as the moon 
slowly climbed the sky ; and long past midnight, when every 
soul in the house was fast locked in sleep — except herself— 
Hanna arose, and with a small, dark lantern concealed in 
the folds of her dress, stole noiselessly from her room, and 
down the Avide, old-fashioned staircase. The moonlight 
flooded the hall, and she glided close to the wall like a 
shadow. At the door of the library she paused, and for a 
moment listened ; then softly turned the handle and enter- 
ed the room. 


CHAPTER XV. 

DOES THE GHOST WALK? 

Hanna Dexter closed the door upon herself, and slowly 
turned the key in the lock. She dared not risk discovery, 
and if by any fatal chance some one should come to the 
library door, she must have the opportunity to coin some 
explanation for her presence there. There was but a chance 
out of a hundred that she would be disturbed, and that did 
not unnerve her; the possible danger calmed and concen- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 109 

trated her energies, and gave her the courage of the desper- 
ate. 

She had before this taken more than one opportunity to 
note well the contents of the library, and she knew that it 
contained, among other articles of a similar nature, an old- 
fashioned black walnut desk — Edgar’s especial property, 
and in which, as she rightly guessed, he kept his private 
papers. 

She noiselessly drew up an old, high-backed chair in front 
of the desk, turned the light of her lantern upon it, and 
tried the lock with her keys. The third key turned the lock^ 
and the desk was open. Hanna’s heart beat so loudly that 
that it almost seemed for some moments as if the noise of 
it must be heard in the dead silence of that room, and her 
fingers trembled so that the keys rattled in her grasp. 

But she commanded herself, and having restored the 
bunch of keys to the folds of her dress, she set down the 
lamp on the table of the desk, which opened outwards, and 
began to search the drawers and pigeon-holes for the paper 
she was in quest of. All the papers she found were in Ed- 
gar’s handwriting, and the temptation to read them was 
very great ; but she dared not do so and thereby Avaste time 
Avhich was so precious to her. 

She felt no scruple about reading Edgar’s papers, even of 
the most private character, for she had not been brought up 
in a manner to give her a just appreciation of such niceties 
of behavior; and besides, even if she had felt a native deli- 
cacy about prying into matters which were never intended 
for her eyes, her position in this household, and the man- 
ner in Avhich she had been treated, were surely a sufficient 
excuse to her for any liberty she could take with his pri\ T ate 
papers. 

So it was the danger of wasting time, and no other con- 
sideration that withheld Mrs. Dangerfield’s maid from mak- 
ing herself thoroughly acquainted with the private corre- 
spondence of Mrs. Dangerfield’s husband. Hanna simply 
unfolded every letter and paper that came to her hand, 
glanced at their contents, then refolded and returned them 
to their places : but as she did so, and still failed to discover 
the one she sought, her face greAV paler and paler, and the 


no 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


eager, expectant expression she had worn at first, hardened 
into stony disappointment. 

At last every drawer, every nook in the secretary had 
been ransacked and carefully examined, but without suc- 
cess. One hope remained. Among the many papers she 
had turned over she had come on two separate little pack- 
ages enclosed in scarlet envelopes, on each of which was 
written across the back, “ Private Papers and Mem., E. D.” 
It was too great a risk to break the envelopes, though she 
felt convinced that one or the other contained the paper she 
sought — but ah! if neither contained it? Edgar might go 
to his desk the very next day, and so discover that his pa- 
pers had been tampered with. He must suspect her in- 
stantly, for already he disliked her, and regarded her with 
aversion, although she could see that he did not himself quite 
understand why, and her plans must be carried out quickly 
and without failure, before his suspicions gathered definite 
form. 

1 ‘ I will take these with me to my room, ” she thought. ‘ ‘ I 
must risk something, and in that there is less risk than in 
breaking the envelope.” 

She took them both very carefully, lest an indiscreet 
touch might reveal that they had been handled ; and then 
having noiselessly closed the desk, she locked it, and stole 
from the room. She could not guess how long she had 
been there; but it must have been hours, for the moon 
had gone down, the sky was clouded and the stairs which 
had been flooded with moonlight when she descended, were 
now pitch dark . She turned off the light from her lantern, 
fearing that a stray gleam might betray her to some early or 
wakeful person; and so, with light and noiseless steps, 
groped her vray up the stairs, and along the passage- 
ways to her room. One step of the stairs had creaked, 
and Hanna almost screamed ; but she held her hand over 
her mouth for an instant, and then resolutely went on. She 
fancied she heard a noise more than once, and, indeed, she 
did, for Dangerfield Mansion was old, and occasionally in 
the dead hours of night mysterious crackings and snap- 
pings of the furniture or of the woodwork of the house 


the curse of danger FIELD. Ill 

might often be heard — as every one who has been up and 
alone in old houses must have observed to be the case. 

The least sound, if but the flutter of a summer moth, 
caused Hanna Dexter to catch her breath, half afraid her 
breathing might be heard ; but at last she was within her 
own room, safe and undiscovered, and courage and calm- 
ness returned. She drew close the curtains of her window, 
and lighted her candle ; and then she examined more close- 
ly the sealed packets of papers which she had brought with 
her. They were enclosed in ordinary gummed envelopes; 
and Hanna proceeded to soften the gum by breathing upon 
it. It was a tedious process, but her constancy and perse- 
verance did not flag for a moment; and she was rewarded 
at the end of ten minutes by finding that she could part the 
gummed edges, and then with painful slowness, and almost 
agonizing care she managed to open the envelope without 
tearing or breaking it, or leaving any trace to show that it 
had been tampered with. The contents did not repay her 
trouble. There were three small folded papers within ; one 
was the receipt of a very large bill at a tailor’s, another 
was notes in regard to a survey of land ; and the third (will 
any gentleman believe it?) a recipe for a certain wash war- 
ranted to make the hands soft and white. It must be re- 
membered that Edgar Danger field was first introduced to 
your notice as a “beautiful man,” and his slender delicate 
hands were his especial vanity at all times. 

Hanna Dexter could not repress a faint groan of disap- 
pointment, but she returned the papers and reclosed the en- 
velopes; and then she took up the second sealed packet, and 
with dogged resolution proceeded to open it in the same 
manner, and never faltered till she had it unclosed and 
the contents in her hand. Then, indeed, she did pause a 
moment, to call up courage for a second disappointment ; 
and this time the disappointment was keener than at first. 
The second envelope contained the leaves of a withered 
rose, wrapped in a scented paper ; and on the outside the 
superscription, in a delicate feminine hand-writing: “ This 
for my Edgar — since he is such a goose as to ask it ;” and 
on the inside of the paper was written, in Edgar’s well- 
known writing: “The rose which Adelaide wore on the 


112 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


night she first kissed me— my darling, my only darling ! 
May 3d.” The slip of paper fell from Hanna’s hand, and 
the rose-leaves were scattered on her lap and on the floor. 
A spasm of intense suffering convulsed her face, and forced 
scalding tears from her eyes. 

“Oh, God! ’’she moaned, “I cannot bear it — I cannot 
bear it— what shall I do? Heaven — heaven, have a little 
mercy — oh, give me a little strength — help me to bear it for 
a little while longer.” 

Choking sobs arose and died in her quivering throat ; burn- 
ing tears poured down over her face, and for many minutes 
her whole being was' shaken with deep but noiseless weep- 
ing. With an almost superhuman effort she controlled her- 
self, and overcame the outward show of suffering ; and when 
she was quiet again she picked up every scattered rose-leaf 
returned them to the papers which had enclosed them, and 
then sealed them up in their envelope. It was too late, now, 
to take the risk of returning the two packets to the desk, as 
she had at first intended, for the morning w*as already break, 
ing, and she knew the down-stairs servants were early 
risers. She must wait till night again to return them, and 
to explore further ; she had as yet tried but one key — there 
were still four more locks to be opened. Recent pain and 
disappointment had for the moment deadened her to any 
further feeling; she threw herself, dressed as she was, on 
the bed, and fell into the deep and dreamless sleep of utter 
exhaustion. 

Hanna slept late, but her mistress, who was usually an 
early riser, did not chide her ; and Hanna observed at once 
that something unusual had occurred, for Mrs. Dangerfield 
neither spoke to her, or took any notice of the especial pains 
which her* maid was bestowing on her toilet. Mr. Danger- 
field was not present; and Hanna told herself, with a bitter 
sneer, that no doubt, the lady’s indifference was caused by 
the absence of the admiring husband. However, when 
Helen Dangerfield entered, the maid soon gathered from the 
remarks of the two ladies to each other that Edgar had been 
suddenly and imperatively called away by telegraph. As 
well as she could guess from what little she heard, Hanna 
conjectured that the business on which Edgar had gone was 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


113 


a mere matter of money ; and not of so much importance to 
any one as to herself. 

“ If he has not taken it with him,” thought Hanna, “I 
will surely discover it before he returns — oh, if he will but 
stay away a week !” 

That day was a trial to Hanna Dexter. She longed so for 
the night that every hour seemed a day ; but the time came 
at length when she could venture forth upon her errand. It 
was past twelve o’clock, but not a moonlight night, for the 
day had been cloudy, and the evening had closed in with 
every indication of a storm. 

But the storm had not yet broken, beyond a faint sprink- 
ling of rain, the patter of which against the windows aided 
Hanna, for she could descend the stairs quickly and with 
less fear of being heard under cover of the slight noise 
made by the falling rain. She returned the envelopes, 
whose contents she had examined, to their former places ; 
and she found that one of the duplicate keys in her posses- 
sion opened the drawers of a secretary book-case in the 
library. She examined every drawer, and every most se- 
cret nook and crevice it contained ; but only with her for- 
mer success. She found nothing to reward her search. 
Heart-sick with disappointment, but still doggedly deter- 
mined, she returned to her own room. 

“ Adelaide,” said Helen, laughingly, next day, “do you 
know I think my great-grandmother must have been 
offended at the sacrilege of putting Mr. McGrath to sleep in 
her room.” 

“Whatever do you mean, dear?” 

“Well, I don’t know that I mean anything; but if I do 
it is this — I half suspect that antique dame has taken it 
into her ghostly head to walk. I thought, the night before 
last, that I heard footsteps on the stairs ; and I vow that 
last night I heard the stairs creak at an unearthly hour, 
and when I stepped out on the landing the faint outline of 
a figure was visible at the farthest end of the hall, gliding 
right toward the haunted room.” 

“Nonsense, you foolish girl!” exclaimed Mrs. Danger 
field. “At the same time, it’s quite exciting, Helen — I 


114 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


don’t know that I object to a ghost. Let her walk, if she 
wants to, but what is she supposed to wish for?” 

“Oh, that I can’t say — but if she comes again, no doubt 
she will signify her desires.” 

Hanna Dexter, who sat sewing at a little distance, but 
quite within ear shot of all that was said, felt her hands 
tremble, and pricked her fingers with the shaking needle. 
She listened intently to all that was said, mentally resolv- 
ing to be more careful than ever in the continuance of her 
search. 

“Before Edgar returns,” she thought, “that precious 
paper must be in my hands.” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

MYSTERIOUS. 

Hanna determined not to continue her search on that 
night. The delay caused her much inward struggling, and 
was a great effort of self-denial when accomplished; but 
she had a strong presentiment that any unusual sound or 
gleam of light would be quickly noticed that night, as per- 
haps the two ladies might be on the watch to learn whether 
the ghost walked. The delay was therefore absolutely nec- 
essary, and she bore it as well as she could ; and she was 
rewarded for her patience. The first word Adelaide spoke 
to Helen when she entered her dressing-room on the way to 
breakfast showed Hanna her own wisdom in having remain- 
ed in her apartment during all the previous night. 

“Nelly, dear, I am so sleepy. I am going for a canter 
after breakfast to see if it will brighten me. Your ghostly 
suggestions kept me awake more than half the night. 
Heigh-ho ! I wish Edgar was home, but there will be a let- 
ter from him to-day, I think.” 

That night every one in Dangerfield, as if by common 
consent, went to bed earlier than usual ; and by midnight 
the whole household, except Hanna Dexter, were wrapped 
in slumber. But she was, as usual, engaged in what she 
began to fear was a hopeless search. So far she had found 
the locks for three keys, and she had examined the entire 
contents of two desks, and the secretary book-case, but 
without finding even a clue to that for which she sought. 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 


115 


Two keys still remained — a large one and a very little one. 
Something told her as plainly as if the words had been 
whispered in her ear that the small key unlocked the place 
in which was kept concealed the paper she so diligently 
searched for. But she couldn’t find the lock to which the 
small key belonged ; she could not even fit the last remain- 
ing large key to the lock it was made for. In vain, on this 
occasion, did she wander from room to room, all over the 
house, trying the key to everything that possessed a lock, 
but utterly without success. She was obliged to return to 
her own room, much downcast — more so than she had yet 
been, for this time she had made no progress at all. 

Helen Dangerfield, who was a very quick and observant 
girl, had for some days noted a certain marked change in 
Mrs. Dangerfield’s maid. Helen knew of Edgar’s aversion 
to Hanna Dexter, and as the girl had from the first im- 
pressed her disagreeably, Helen sympathized with her 
brother. She knew that he had asked Adelaide to dismiss 
her maid, and get another, and she thought he had re- 
quested but a small favor, and she resented Adelaide’s denial 
of it. She would have discharged every servant in Danger- 
field if Edgar had desired it. But she knew her own sex too 
well to go the open and undisguised way to accomplish her 
ends. She merely kept a very sharp eye on Hanna Dexter, 
convinced that soon Or late she would give a justifiable 
cause for dismissing her on the spot — or at least, for proving 
to Adelaide that it was her duty to do so. 

She was familiar with the girl’s dark pallor, and the 
strange, stony glare of her long, almond-shaped eyes ; there- 
fore when she saw that meaningless glare suddenly ex- 
changed for a brilliant lighting up of the eyes that gave 
expression to the whole face, and often detected a hectic 
flush of excitement on the colorless cheek, Helen Danger- 
field naturally asked herself what was the cause, and kept 
a keen eye of observation on her sister’s maid. Hanna 
was unconscious of this change in her own appearance, for 
she was not given to consulting the looking-glass ; and the 
change had come since she had gained possession of the 
keys. It was due to her alert attention during every hour 
of the day, and the way she had of taking in at a glance 


116 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


every article in every room in which she chanced to he even 
for a moment. Hanna was eternally on the watch for locks 
to which she might fit her keys; but Helen read her 
wrongly. 

“ The woman is a thief,” thought Miss Dangerfield. “ Ed- 
gar was quite right in suspecting her ; but I will watch till 
I have a justification of his suspicions, and then Adelaide 
must dismiss her maid.” 

Hanna was intensely occupied with her own thoughts, 
and the effort to discover the whereabouts of the locks to 
which the two remaining keys belonged, or else she might 
have seen that Miss Dangerfield observed her with a strange 
and concentrated attention several times during the day. 

Hanna sat working on some fine embroidery belonging 
to her mistress. Her fingers were unusually active ; and 
although her attention was completely fixed on something 
entirely apart, she was diligently attending to the immedi- 
ate business in hand. Suddenly she uttered a sharp excla- 
mation, and both Adelaide and Helen turned toward her. 

‘ ‘ I beg pardon, ma’am, ” the girl said, ‘ ‘ I pricked my 
finger with the needle, that was all.” 

Inwardly she was saying to herself: “Fool — fool! To 
have wasted my time so. It is in his dressing-room, of 
course — where else would he have kept his most private 
papers?” 

For Hanna had remembered suddenly, but with startling 
distinctness, having seen in Edgar’s dressing-room an up- 
right desk or secretary of French walnut. 

At the time she had seen it she was searching for Edgars 
keys and had not yet found them : so her gaze merely wan- 
dered over the locked desk, and passed on in her search for 
the keys to drawers and closets which had been left un- 
locked. 

But now, she remembered, it had struck her even then, 
that the desk in his dressing-room contained the paper she 
was in search of ; and she hated and almost cursed herself 
for not having remembered it. However, as she reflected, 
she found that there was less to blame herself with than 
had at first appeared. 

While Edgar had been at home it was simply impossible 


117 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

to enter his dressing-room without his knowledge ; and even 
now Mrs. Dangerfield’s presence made it equally impossible, 
for it was necessary to pass through her sleeping-apartment 
to reach the door of Edgar’s dressing-room, which was 
close-locked, perhaps. But that much Hanna could dis- 
cover without exciting suspicion ; and in the course of the 
day she managed to turn the handle, and push the door . It 
was not locked, she drew it gently to again, and gave up 
her whole heart and mind to thinking out a way by which 
she could enter it unseen, and examine the contents of the 
desk. The day slowly glided on ; the air grew heavy and 
sultry, and there were tokens of a coming thunderstorm. 
Dinner time came and went, and all the time Hanna was 
saying to herself : ‘ ‘ To-night — to-night— it must be done to- 
night, for Edgar may return to-morrow.” But fate seemed 
against her; for Mrs. Dangerfield, who had never yet 
absented herself from the table, sent an excuse for not ap- 
pearing at dinner, and complaining of a violent headache, 
remained in her own room. Hanna remained with her, 
bathing her head and temples with cologne, and brushing 
her long silken hair for more than an hour at a time. 

There was a strange expression on the girl’s face as she 
continued her task ; and more than once it seemed, to judge 
by her gleaming eyes, as if she were more disposed to wind 
her hand in the nut-brown tresses, and dash their owner’s 
head against the floor, than contribute by her efforts to re- 
lieve her of the pain she was suffering. But she controlled 
her feeling admirably, and with unflagging patience con- 
tinued alternately to brush with gentlest hand the silken 
hair, or else bathe the snowy temples with weak cologne. 

At last Mrs. Dangerfield said : 

“I think that will do, Hanna — I feel better; and you 
must be tired. If I could have some strong tea perhaps it 
would do me good.” 

“ I will get it for you, ma’am,” said the maid, with alac- 
rity. 

“ Do so — it is seldom I have these headaches, but when I 
do, they are severe. It must be the coming thunderstorm. 
The air is very sultry.” 

Hanna departed on her errand, and returned soon with a 


118 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


cup of very hot tea. She had passed her own room on the 
way, and she poured a tea-spoonful of a colorless liquid into 
the tea. It did not alter its appearance or taste, for Hanna 
was careful to ascertain this before giving the beverage to 
her mistress. 

“That will do,” she told herself. “I don’t wish to kill 
you, Mrs. Dangerfield. I think I can do better than that. 
But you will sleep soundly after drinking this tea.” 

Mrs. Dangerfield drank the tea, and praised the flavor. 

Soon afterward she complained of feeling drowsy, and 
dismissed her maid. 

As Hanna left the room, she slipped the key out of the 
lock and carried it with her. 

“Perhaps she locks her door,” thought the girl, “but if 
the key is not in it she will be too sleepy to take any trouble 
about it.” 

She dropped it in a dark corner of the hall, and ran on to 
her own room. 

Evening deepened into night, the air grew more sultry, 
great drops of rain as large as a silver half dollar fell from 
time to time, and in the far distance could be heard the 
rumble of thunder. But still the storm hung fire, and at 
last it seemed as if it would roll and rumble itself away, 
and come to nothing. 

The inmates of Dangerfield Mansion got tired waiting for 
it, and everyone went to bed, and were soon fast asleep. 

Hanna felt sure that Mrs. Dangerfield must have been 
a sleep long ago, and she was already anxious lest the first 
early and soundest sleep should have been slept out ; so she 
glided with even more than her customary care across the 
carpeted floor, opened the door of Edgar’s dressing-room, 
and in another instant was fitting the largest of her two re- 
maining keys to the lock of the writing-desk. The key 
turned in the lock, and the desk was open. At the same 
moment the muffled thunder suddenly came miles nearer, a 
flame of lightning for a single moment seemed to light up 
the whole room to the most distant corner, and a roar of 
thunder burst over the house, shaking it to the foundation, 
then rolling and rumbling away. It was so sudden that 
Hanna could not be certain that she had not cried out or 


THE CURSE OF DANGER FIELD. 


119 


spoken in the first startled moment ; but the swift flash had 
shown her in the interior of the desk a very small box, its 
cover inlaid with mother-of-pearl that glittered in the light- 
ning flash. She knew it was the thing she had been seeking, 
and in another moment the tiny key was fitted to the 
lock, it turned, and the box was open. At that very instant 
there was the rush of footsteps in the hall outside, Mrs. 
Dangerfield’ s room door was open, and some one entered 
hurriedly. Instinctively Hanna relocked the box, closed 
the desk, turned the key in it, and hid her bunch of keys in 
her bosom. The room was again in pitch darkness, and she 
shrank against the wall, close to the open door. 

4 4 Adelaide — Adelaide ! Are you asleep, dear, in this awful 
storm?” 

It was the voice of the new comer in the outer room ; 
and Hanna recognized it at once - as Miss Dangerfield’s 
voice. 

“Oh, do wake !” continued Helen, “how can you sleep 
through this fearful thunder, and the sky is one blaze of 
lightning !” 

Even as she spoke the whole room was lighted up with 
the glare, and a roar like the sound of cannon sounded over 
and around the house, while the windows and shutters 
clattered. Hanna saw by the lightning flash that Miss 
Dangerfield stood over the bed, and that the way to the door 
was clear. 

It was now dark again, and Hanna made a rush for the 
outer door, but she overturned a chair, and caught her dress 
as she did so — at the same moment Mrs. Dangerfield, awak- 
ened by the thunder, but bewildered by the sleeping draught 
she had taken, was conscious only of the lesser sound, and 
started up screaming. 

4 4 What was that ? Helen, is it you— what is the matter ?” 

Hanna fled madly into the hall, not an instant too soon, 
for again the room was alight with the glare of lightning, 
and the terrific noise cf the succeeding thunder covered the 
commotion of her escape. But Helen cried out: 

44 Some one was in the room— there is a thief in the house ! 
Come with me ! I was frightened by the storm, for light- 


120 THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

ning makes a coward of me, but I will know what this 
means?” 

Mrs. Dangerfield threw on a wrapper and followed her 
spirited sister-in-law ; but the landing was pitch dark and 
Mrs. Dangerfield returned for a light, crying out: 

“Don’t go alone, Helen — ring the bell — alarm the house !” 

“ No, I know the thief — she is only a woman. We need 
no assistance.” 

Again the lightning blazed out, and Helen saw at the 
farthest extremity of a corridor, which ran in a semicircle, 
a white-robed figure flying wildly on, and evidently trying 
to escape. Mrs. Dangerfield returned with a light. 

“ I see her !” cried Helen. “Adelaide, go that way — I 
will go this ! There is no escape. She cannot get out of 
this corridor — these are the only entrances. There is 
neither door nor hall in its entire length.” 

The two ladies, excited by the chase, hurried on, and pres- 
ently came around the corridor where they could see each 
other, and midway between them a white figure, standing 
still and desperate, with bowed head and drooped arms. 
As they neared her she turned her face as if she would hide 
against the wall, raised her arms, with a sharp cry, and 
flung them and herself forward as if she would cleave a 
passage for her own escape. Mrs. Dangerfield and Helen 
rushed forward, each stretched out a hand to grasp the 
fugitive, and their hands clasped each other, with only the 
blank wall before them. 

“Where is she?” they each stammered with broken 
accents: and then they felt the wall, smooth and unbroken, 
and drew back and stared at each other. 

“What does it mean?” they gasped, and a cold chill 
passed from one to the other, and the lightning blazed, and 
showed them only each other’s white, startled faces. 

CHAPTER XVII. 

A PRECIOUS PAPER. 

Helen was the first to recover her voice and her scattered 
wits. 

“This is very strange,” she said; “but I am no believer 
in the supernatural, notwithstanding my jests about our 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


121 


ghost. There must be some natural explanation of what 
seems so extraordinary to us, and I am determined to find 
out the key to it.” 

“ What possible explanation can there be?” asked Mrs. 
Dangerfield, and the lightning, which at that moment lit 
up the whole corridor, showed her face to be strangely 
white and awe-struck. “We could not both have been 
mistaken in fancying that we saw a woman ; and if there 
was really a woman, she has really vanished through the 
wall before our very eyes.” 

“No; that is where we were mistaken; you dropped the 
candle, and for some moments we were absolutely in dark- 
ness ; when the lightning flashed again and we thought we 
saw her in this spot, our eyes were doubtless bewildered, 
and she escaped us by gliding along the wall, and so get- 
ting to the farthest end of the corridor before we had re- 
covered from our amazement.” 

“ She? Who? Nell, my dear, you speak as if you knew 
who the woman was.” 

“ An d so I do ; the woman is a thief who was endeavoring 
to rob you while you slept, and the thief is your waiting- 
maid, Hanna Dexter!” 

“Preposterous! Why, Helen, you are worse than Edgar. 
But come, it is easy to prove your suspicions wrong and 
cruel ; if the woman was Hanna, there is only one way to 
her room from this corridor, and as the communicating door 
is nearly always locked, it will be easy enough to discover 
whether she went that way.” 

Mrs. Dangerfield went forward as she spoke, and as the 
storm continued to rage with increasing fury, the thunder 
rolling in deafening peals over the house, and the lightning 
succeeding in sheets of flame to every reverberating roar, 
their way was sufficiently lighted and they did not wait to 
procure another candle. 

In a few minutes they reached the door, which was the 
only entrance into a hall leading from that part of the 
house to the western wing. The door was locked, and the 
key was in the lock on the side next to them. This puzzled 
even Helen, causing her to doubt whether it could have 
been Hanna, and making Mrs. Dangerfield exclaim : 


122 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


“There, you see you were mistaken — it could not have 
been Hanna.” 

“ It is true that she could not have passed this way, leav- 
ing the door locked as it is ; but it is no proof that it was not 
she whom we saw. She has evaded us, and is waiting in 
some corner now for an opportunity to reach her own room.” 

“ How persistent you are !” exclaimed Adelaide, “and I 
never could have believed you were so suspicious. But 
come on to Hanna’s room — if we find her there you must 
confess yourself mistaken.” 

She unlocked the door as she spoke, and they proceeded 
toward Hanna Dexter’s room. The hall was dark and they 
had, tremblingly, to feel their way along; Adelaide sug- 
gested that they should return to her room for a light; but 
Helen objected with the unanswerable reason that the wait- 
ing-maid would seize that opportunity to gain her room in 
safety, thus leaving them without any clue to the mystery 
which had so perplexed them. Mrs. Dangerfield was pro- 
voked by her persistence ; and setting her white teeth to- 
gether resolutely braced herself to the effort of clearing her 
maid from suspicion. 

They reached Hanna’s door, and had to knock more than 
once before they received any sign that they were heard. 
Helen said nothing, but Adelaide felt sure of the triumph 
she was experiencing, and was provoked. She knocked 
long and loud on the girl’s door, and was presently rewarded 
by hearing sounds within. The door opened, and Hanna 
Dexter, partly unrobed, and with a night-dress thrown 
hastily over her, appeared, holding a small bedroom candle- 
stick in her hand. She was very pale, paler than usual, but 
the expression of her face was calm. 

“Well— well, bring your candle out and light us back to 
Mrs. Dangerfield’s room,” Helen returned, impatiently; 
“we have been much alarmed by an apparent attempt to 
rob my sister while she slept.” 

Hanna merely requested permission to change her night- 
dress for a wrapper, and then, candle in hand, preceded the 
two ladies toward Mrs. Dangerfield’s room. She took the 
ordinary passage-way, leading from her own room to the 
main part of the house; and Adelaide marked the circum- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 


123 


stance by a single glance at Helen, but the latter took no 
notice. She was still unconvinced, and determined to sift 
the mystery which had baffled her. But she saw that it was 
quite hopeless to accuse Hanna further, until she had posi- 
tive proof to offer. Mrs. Dangerfield had taken a positive 
liking to the girl ; at first because she so exactly suited her, 
and then she felt that she was a sort of protege of her own 
since the unjust prejudices of Edgar and Helen. 

The storm continued to increase in violence ; the house 
shook beneath the fury of the tempest; and long before they 
had reached her room, Mrs. Dangerfield was trembling 
violently in the reaction from the excitement and the fright 
she had received from the mysterious, ghost-like disappear- 
ance of the figure in the corridor. But most of all her ex- 
citement was due, though she knew nothing of it, to the 
effect ot the opiate she had drank in her tea. It was the 
first time in her life that she had ever taken an opiate ; and 
as her sleep had been broken before the effect had passed 
a\^*y, the result was a wild and incomprehensible excite- 
ment, which culminated in a severe fit of hysterics, as soon 
as she had regained her room. 

Helen Dangerfield, who had never seen any one in 
hysterics, was terrified; and Adelaide, who had no ex- 
perience of the reaction from intense nervous excitement, 
was frightened beyond all effort at self-control, and thought 
herself going mad. Her piercing screams soon roused the 
whole house, and the room was speedily filled with servants, 
who managed to make the confusion worse by becoming as 
frightened as the rest ; and it was only when Colonel Dan- 
gerfield arrived upon the scene that the case was properly 
understood, and the correct manner of treating it acted 
upon. 

In the meantime Hanna Dexter had resolved on a bold 
movement. She felt as convinced as though she had al- 
ready seen it, that the paper she sought was contained in 
the tiny box which she had seen in the secretary in Edgar’s 
dressing-room. 

In the confusion attendant on Mrs. Dangerfield’s attack 
of illness, which was aggravated by the storm, no one 
thought of anything but tending on the suffering woman. 


124 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


Hanna glided into Edgar’s dressing-room, went directly to 
the secretary, and as she always carried her bunch of keys 
about her, opened the desk, then fitted a key to the lock of 
the box she had before opened, and hastily examined its 
contents. 

At first her heart sank at finding nothing but what seem- 
ed to be trinkets and keepsakes ; but presently her quick 
fingers detected a false bottom, and beneath that she found 
a folded paper. Determined to possess herself of it at anj^ 
hazard, she took it, relocked and closed the box, and re- 
turned it to the secretary, and then locked that, too. 

The room was dark, and she could not see to read the 
paper, but her heart told her that she had at last accom- 
plished her purpose. She placed the paper in her bosom, 
and returned to Mrs. Dangerfield’s room, her absence not 
having been detected, even by Helen, who was too much 
alarmed and preoccupied by Adelaide’s condition to think 
of anything else. 

It was quite an hour, and the fury of the storm had spent 
itself, before Mrs. Dangerfield had grown calm enough to 
exercise her customary self-control ; but when she did, she 
immediately sent the servants to bed, thanked and kissed 
her uncle, begging he would forgive her for frightening 
them all, and was left alone with the waiting-maid. 

Hanna made herself useful in many ways, waited most 
patiently on her mistress, flew to obey Helen’s behests, and 
all the time felt the precious paper against her beating 
heart. 

At last Mrs. Dangerfield declared herself better, and ex- 
pressed a disposition to sleep ; so Hanna was again dismissed 
for the night, and Helen Dangerfield remained wfith her 
sister. 

Hanna Dexter took up her candle and returned to her 
room. She scarcely felt the floor beneath her feet, as she 
sped along with flying footsteps. She locked her door and 
drew forth the paper she had purloined, her heart alter- 
nately wild w T ith hope and sinking with apprehension ; but 
the first glance at it caused her to fall on her knees with a 
cry of joy, and again and again she murmured; 

‘ ‘ Oh, God, I thank thee — I thank thee l” 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


125 


Across the paper was written: “ Certificate of Marriage, 
between Elise Morel, of Montreal, Dominion of Canada, and 
iMgar Dangerfield, of Dangerfield, State of New York, 
United States.” 

It was the same paper which Edgar Dangerfield had 
shown to his friend Allan, on the night of the fire in To- 
ronto. The waiting-maid knew it at once, but she opened 
it and read the few lines it contained, again and again ; ten- 
derly pressed her lips to the paper ; then she refolded it 
and returned it to her bosom, where it lay against her 
heart till the hour of her death. 

A great calm fell upon her, but she could not sleep ; and 
to pass the remaining hours of the night she drew out her 
diary and writing materials from their hiding-place and 
noted down the events of the night. 

June 30th. — “When they discovered me and pursued me 
into the corridor, I felt that all was lost, and my heart 
seemed to die within me ; one on each side, they pursued 
me and closed me in, and I knew that if I was recognized 
I might as well die at once; for it would mean expulsion 
from the house, which would arouse suspicion, and Edgar 
would destroy the proof of our marriage and declare me a 
mad woman. I felt then as if I would go mad. I had no 
hope of escape. 

‘ ‘ I turned to the wall and flung up my arms against it in 
utter despair, in the hope that for a minute longer I might 
hide my face ; but the wall seemed to move, it seemed to 
open beneath the pressure of my body, and as I then leaned 
against it with all my weight and strength, I felt myself re- 
volve, I heard a sharp click, and found myself in utter 
darkness. 

“ It all took place within so few seconds that I did not 
know I had escaped till I heard my pursuers’ voices on the 
other side, and almost felt their hands against the wall, as 
they sought for some opening by which I might have dis- 
appeared. There was not a moment to lose, and I was too 
much excited for fear, although my deliverance seemed 
nothing less than a miracle to me. I had my dark lantern, 
and I soon lighted it from a match which I struck on the 
sole of my shoe. Then I saw what had happened. I wag 


126 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


in a narrow passage-way, which led to a flight of steps at 
a little distance; and I had accidentally struck on the 
spring which moved a part of the wall, that had slid back 
into its place, on the instant that my weight was removed 
from it. 

1 “I understood what had seemed so marvelous, now ; al- 
though I had only read of such things, and never had quite 
believed them. I had often heard Edgar say that the 
house was very old, and had been built in revolutionary 
times ; the place in which I now found myself was no doubt 
a secret passage, to be used on occasion of danger, and when 
escape was otherwise impossible. I hurried on and ran 
down the steps; they led to a place about the size of a 
small room, and which, of course, was pitch-dark, except 
the ray of light from my lantern. I ran against a great 
hogshead, and my hand was covered with something that I 
found, on looking at it, was gunpowder — the hogshead was 
full of it. Good Heavens ! What a thing to have conceal- 
ed, as it was, in the very middle of the house. I drew 
back, frightened, and screened the very light of my lamp 
from the dangerous thing — at the same time a wild and 
horrible thought came to me : If I never find my marriage 
certificate, I can at least blow the whole Dangerfield man- 
sion and every one in it to atoms. But at that moment my 
first care was to escape from the place. I looked around 
and saw that another flight of stairs led to another descent, 
and having no choice, hurried down them, feeling more and 
more bewildered ; for I was beginning to fear that I might 
never find my way out. The secret passage was evidently 
unknown to the family, and the way out of it might never 
be discovered, except by one possessing the secret ! At the 
foot of the second flight of stairs I found three small pas- 
sage-ways, leading three different directions: and with 
blind faith I took the first. It brought me to a spiral stair- 
way, ascending which, I climbed as rapidly as possible, but 
in my haste it seemed as if I would never reach the top of 
it. But when I arrived there at last I judged from the 
noise of the storm, which I could now hear in all its fury, 
that I must be near some habitable part of the house. I 
looked about and saw the rough side of a wall before me, 


127 


THE CURSE OF DA NGER FIELD. 

and directly in front of me a small iron knob. I thought 
this must be the spring to some contrivance for entering 
some one of the rooms, and at the risk of being discovered, 
for I wa3 now half wild with fear, I seized, and tried to 
turn it. A portion of the wall moved, precisely as it had 
done in the corridor, and in another moment I was in my 
own room, and the wall had closed behind mo, leaving not 
even a crack, that I could see, for the interior wall was curi- 
ously painted in figures that fitted into each other. 

‘ ‘ Before I could utter even a silent thanksgiving for this 
great and unexpected relief, I heard the sound of knocking 
at my door, and as soon as I could prepare myself for open- 
ing it, I found his sister— Mrs. Dangerfield— ha— ha ! ma- 
dame, you will bear that title but a short while, now I 
found them both in search of me, as I had, indeed, expect- 
ed. I hate Helen Dangerfield. She suspects me for other 
than I seem, and has done so from the first, almost — she 
hates me, and I hate her. Not even her resemblance to 
Edgar melts my heart toward her. As for the other, if she 
had never come with that glorious face of hers, between 
me and mine, I could have loved her, for she is a queenly 
woman, and beautiful — all me ! how beautiful ! Can I ever 
make him forget that radiant face, now when I am scarred 
and hideous— that face that so far eclipsed mine even when he 
called me beautiful? I know not of what stuff I am made. 
I thought I hated him — yes, hated him, even though I loved 
him, and my bruised heart called out only for revenge. 
But now, when the means of vengeance is in my hand, the 
heart I thought dead rises up and pleads for him — my hus- 
band — my husband ! Oh, how I love you, for I could for- 
give, yes, and forget everything if you would but once 
more hold me in your arms and say, as you used to do, 1 Darl- 
ing, I love you 1’ Alas — alas ! I know you will never do 
that, but I will do nothing rashly, now. You are my hus- 
band, and I can prove it to the whole world — you must 
acknowledge me and call me wife; but it shall be done in 
your own way, dearest — if you will only consent to do it. I 
will not humilate you more than is unavoidable — I will be 
generous, Edgar, if you will be just. Only be kind to me — 
love me a little, a very little, I won’t ask for much, But 


128 THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 

mine you are, and no other woman shall bear your name 
while I live.” 

Hanna Dexter closed her journal and locked it away. 
Her heart was full, and her mind was distracted with many 
thoughts; hut in the midst of all she was conscious of a 
calm and tranquil triumph in the possession of the paper 
she had almost periled her life to obtain. 

It wanted some hours of morning, and she spent the time 
in applying a wash to her eyebrows and to her blonde hair. 
When she had done so a great many times, both her eye- 
brows and hair were turned from a light straw color to a 
very dark brown, and the waiting-maid’s appearance was 
marvelously changed and improved. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 
edgar’s return. 

On the next morning, Mrs. Dangerfield was still weak 
and tremulous ; and Colonel Dangerfield insisted on calling 
in the family physician, who prescribed a tonic, and per- 
fect quiet for a few days. Edgar was hourly expected 
home now, or Helen would have telegraphed to hasten his 
return, so much alarmed did she feel by Adelaide’s illness, 
and by another circumstance, which may be at once men- 
tioned. 

When Mrs. Dangerfield’s maid entered her room the 
morning after the storm, the lady was so much astonished 
at the change in the girl’s appearance that she could not 
disguise her surprise, and Miss Dangerfield, who was pres- 
ent, regarded Hanna with renewed and increased suspicion 
and aversion. 

It was not merely the change which the different coloring 
of the hair and eyebrows produced in the young woman’s 
face ; her whole expression and bearing were altered. 

She looked bright and animated, the triumph of the night 
before had kindled a brilliant color in her cheeks and lips, 
and although it was only the color of excitement, it was 
none the less becoming; she carried herself proudly, her 
step was quick and elastic ; and though no one would have 
called her handsome, it would have been easy for any one 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 129 

to imagine that she might have been extremely pretty be- 
fore her face was so marred as it now was. 

“Hanna! What in the world is the matter with you?” 
Mrs. Dangerfield cried out, with a visible start of amaze- 
ment, “ or is it you, really? What have you been doing to 
yourself, girl?” 

Helen listened eagerly for the answer, but did not remove 
her gaze from the waiting-maid. Hanna answered with a 
slight smile — the first her mistress had ever seen upon her 
face: 

“Does it make so very much difference, madam? But 
this is the natural color of my hair; indeed, it is naturally 
quite black; when I was in New York, I had it bleached, 
just for a whim, but I have grown tired of it. I prefer the 
original color.” 

Mrs. Dangerfield frowned slightly, and by a quick glance 
conveyed to Helen that she began to think there was some- 
thing very queer about the waiting-maid. Helen wisely 
said nothing, foreseeing that her sister would, in time, come 
around to her own and Edgar’s views in regard to Hanna 
Dexter. 

“ It certainly does change you, greatly,” Mrs. Dangerfield 
said, “and it makes your face strangely familiar to me. 
Can I ever have seen you anywhere before you came to 
Dangerfield?” 

“No, madam, I should think that was quite impossible.” 

Hanna’s voice was changed as much as her general ap- 
pearance. Instead of being harsh and cold, it was soft and 
rich, and though somewhat provincial in accent, refined in 
tone. 

She took up Mrs. Dangerfield’s brushes and dressing-comb, 
and proceeded to dress that lady’s hair, but with a manner 
of marked carelessness, as contrasted with her previous 
mode of performing that operation. 

Mrs. Dangerfield was extremely sensitive to every shade 
in the manners of those about her, and she felt the change 
in her waiting-maid’s manner instantly. 

Her cheek flushed and she raised her head with a haughty 
gesture when she became conscious of the intentional dis- 
respect in Hanna’s performance of her duties. The fact 


130 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


that Helen was present and observed it too, added a sting 
to her annoyance. 

“ Hanna,” she said, abruptly, “ you do not satisfy me as 
you did at first ; and I may as well give you warning now. 
You will not suit me as a maid, and you may consider 
yourself free at the end of the month.” 

The girl laughed carelessly; she then answered: 

‘ ‘ I was just going to tell you, madame, that the situation 
doesn’t suit me, and I would be pleased to leave your ser- 
vice as soon as convenient.” 

“Whenever you please,” said the lady, as with a proud, 
cold gesture, she waved her maid away from her. “And 
for the present you may leave the room.” 

“You were right, Nelly, dear,” she continued, turning to 
Helen, when the door closed after Hanna. “ Both you and 
Edgar were right — there certainly is something queer about 
that young woman. I wouldn't be surprised if she turned 
out to be crazy.” 

“I am glad, dear, that you have dismissed her, anyway, 
and Edgar will be glad, too — dear fellow ! how I wish he 
would come home. The house isn’t the same without him.” 

Adelaide sighed, and echoed the sentiment. 

“ But he will be at home to-night,” she added. “I expect 
a telegram at any minute.” 

“ Then I do hope you will be quite recovered before he 
comes, for if you are not, he will be terrified, and then good- 
bye to our Fourth of July trip to Philadelphia.” 

“Nonsense! I shall be entirely well, and I wouldn't miss 
the Fourth of July in Philadelphia for anything in the 
world. That impertinent girl is re-trimming my black 
silk, and it must be finished before she goes, too. Oh, what 
a nuisance waiting- maids are ! and this one suited me so 
well. I’ll never find her equal.” 

Mrs. Dangerfield received the expected telegraphic de- 
spatch within the next hour, and Edgar returned early in 
the evening, in time for dinner. 

Mrs. Dangerfield was much too well-bred and dignified to 
maintain any coolness of demeanor toward a servant, be- 
cause she was discharged ; consequently Hanna was required 
to attend to all her duties as usual, and when Edgar re- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 181 

turned she was seated in her customary place, sewing some 
very rich old lace on a black silk basque. 

Adelaide heard her husband’s step upon the stairs, and 
she flew like a girl to meet him. They had been married 
only a month, and surely their ardor was reasonable, it 
being still their honeymoon. But Hanna Dexter could not 
be expected to sympathize in the joy of their reunion. Her 
sewing dropped in a heap on her lap, and she clasped her 
hands tightly together, for it required the full exercise of 
the self-control she had so painfully learned to enable her 
to sit quietly by, while the man she so hopelessly adored 
held another woman in his close embrace, and showered 
kisses on her beautiful face. 

Edgar presently entered with Adelaide, his arm still 
thrown around her waist, and his eyes too much absorbed 
in loving admiration of her glowing beauty to be conscious 
of any other presence. 

Hanna resumed her sewing, and with bent head appeared 
to be entirely devoted to her task. 

“ You must dress for dinner now, dearest,” Mrs. Danger- 
field said, “and there isn’t a minute to lose, either, for 
there’s but scant time, and you know this is the abode of 
punctuality. But I will go and tell them you must have 
fifteen minutes’ grace, being just returned from a journey. 
Hanna, light the candles in Mr. Dangerfield’s dressing- 
room.” 

The girl obeyed, and Adelaide took the occasion of her 
momentary absence to lift her blushing face toward her 
husband, and he improved the opportunity. He was look- 
ing unusually handsome, and Adelaide thought she had 
never been so much in love with him. At that moment 
Hanna returned from the adjoining room and Adelaide 
withdrew a step or two from Edgar. He looked toward 
the unwelcome intruder with a slight frown of impatience ; 
but the expression of his face instantly changed to a look 
of abject terror, he uttered a broken exclamation, then 
stood in silence looking at his wife’s maid as though he be- 
held a ghostly apparition. 

“Dearest Edgar,” exclaimed Adelaide, “you look posi- 
tively frightened ! But it is only Hanna. No wonder you 


132 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


should be surprised, though — I could scarcely believe my 
eyes. You must know she has been masquerading, and 
sailing under false colors. It seems she took a whim — 
quite a fashionable whim — to be a blonde ; so she had her 
hair bleached and colored her brows; but she got tired of it, 
she says, and really, the change is wonderful. But now 
you must go and dress, darling, and I will go and arrange 
the delay about serving dinner.” 

Edgar made a supreme effort after calmness and com- 
posure ; and kissing his wife’s hand, as she left the room, 
entered his dressing-room, and locked the door. 

“ I have had a scare about nothing,” he thought; “it is 
that infernal resemblance. I scarcely saw it before, but 
the change in the hair brings it out. Why do I tremble 
and turn cold as if I had seen one raised from the dead? — 
and an awful suspicion has got hold of me — but it is im- 
possible-impossible !” 

He approached the secretary, unlocked it, opened the 
small box inlaid with mother-of-pearl, and turning out the 
trinkets as if they had been rubbish, raised the false bottom, 
and looked beneath it. There was nothing there ; and with 
a groan, he sank into the nearest chair, while the box fell 
from his nerveless grasp, and was shattered to pieces on the 
floor. 

“It is Elise,” he said, despairingly, “Elise — alive — and 
well — and here ! Oh, God, my sin has surely found me out. 
She was not killed — she is not dead, but here— here, and in 
her possession the proof that she is my wife? I am ruined ! 
Adelaide will scorn me — will hate me — and I shall lose her 
forever. What shall I do — what can Ido? I will die rather 
than lose her — rather than live to see those sweet eyes that 
I adore turned from me in loathing and contempt ! ” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE CURSE FULFILLED. 

The next day was Sunday ; and Edgar had driven Ade- 
laide to church, as usual ; but he had been unaccountably 
silent, and despite his efforts to conceal it, very visibly de- 
pressed in spirits. In vain Adelaide rallied him, and 
sought to raise him out of what seemed moodiness, to her ; 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


133 


he would endeavor to respond to her light gayety for a few 
minutes at a time, but would presently settle down into his 
previous listless melancholy. Adelaide had not found him 
in this mood when she met him, and threw herself into his 
arms on his return ; on the contrary, he had been full of 
enthusiastic admiration and ardent affection, as usual ; but 
when she returned to him, after giving orders to delay the 
dinner, she had found him changed. The change was so 
sudden and so marked that she could not fail to perceive it, 
and naturally she sought for an explanation. And as she 
questioned herself and ransacked her memory she could 
not fail to note that this change had come on Edgar since 
he had observed the difference in Hanna Dexter’s appear- 
ance. 

“ It is absurd that a servant, who is, at the worst, per- 
haps a little crack-brained, should produce such an effect 
on my husband,” thought Adelaide; “but since he has 
taken such an incurable dislike to the girl, I am very glad 
she has given me an opportunity to dismiss her.” 

“ Edgar, dear,” said the lady, as they drove home from 
church, “you’ll be glad to hear that I have discharged 
Hanna — you know you wished it so much.” 

“Discharged Hanna!” exclaimed Edgar. “What on 
earth are you thinking of— you mustn’t do any such thing !” 

“Edgar, are you going crazy — or what is the matter 
with you? Why, you have again and again entreated me, 
as a special favor, to dismiss the woman ” 

“Yes, but you wouldn’t dismiss her when I asked you, 
and now it’s too late.” 

“Too late for what? What has she done?” exclaimed 
Adelaide, incredulously. 

“ Done— nothing. I beg your pardon, darling, I wasn't 
quite attending to what you were saying— of course you 
have done right, whatever it is. So you have discharged 
your waiting-maid, have you, dear? And how did she take 
her dismissal?” 

“ Oh, very coolly, indeed, I assure you. She gave me to 
understand that if I had not dismissed her, she would have 
dismissed me very soon, as the situation does not suit her. 


134 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


I don’t think I was ever quite so much mistaken in any one 
as in Hanna Dexter.” 

“ Impertinent creature !” muttered Edgar, and his heart 
sunk into its lowest depths, for he was now convinced that 
Hanna was indeed the deserted Elise, and he felt how 
entirely he was in her power. “When does she go?” he 
asked, aloud. 

* ‘ On the fourth ; I shall pay her up to the end of the 
month, of course, but I wouldn’t leave her in the house 
an hour after we have gone. I begin to think her insane, 
she looks and acts so strangely.” 

“ I told you so from the first, my darling,” said Edgar, 
with animation, for Adelaide’s random remark had given 
him hope and a sudden inspiration by which he might once 
more gain his freedom. 

He would continue to declare his belief in Hanna Dexter’s 
insanity, and in the meantime he would work upon the girl’s 
feelings, throw himself on her mercy, obtain the certificate 
of his marriage with her, and having destroyed it, throw 
her upon the world as a raving lunatic. 

His spirits arose with the idea, for he was desperate at 
the thought of losing Adelaide, and he would not have hesi- 
tated at murder to obtain freedom from his hated wife, 
could he but feel safe in putting her out of the way. 

He sought an opportunity of gaining an interview with 
the waiting-maid, but she spent the greater part of the day 
in her room, for Adelaide did not make many calls upon 
her that day, and on the next day, Monday, Hanna was ab- 
sorbed in the work which her mistress had given her to do ; 
and if she perceived Edgar’s anxiety to have speech with 
her she gave no sign of it, but with eyes’steadfastly bent on 
her sewing, stitched away as if her life depended on it. 

“What does she intend to do?” Edgar asked himself, 
“Does she intend to leave the house without a word to me, 
now that she has achieved her purpose and has me entirely 
in her power? Perhaps she will go direct to McGrath, place 
the marriage certificate in his hands, and give me up to the 
mercies of his tender profession. As if I wouldn’t rather 
die than acknowledge that creature as my wife, now. No — 
no, Adelaide, my darling, I cannot lose you ; if I cannot get 


185 


THE CURSE OF DA N GERFIELD. 

free from that dreadful creature, I will take you away with 
me where oceans and continents shall separate us from her, 
till she has worn herself out and dies in a madhouse — where 
she ought to be, now.” 

The day and evening wore away, and Hanna Dexter had 
retired to her room for the night, and yet Edgar had found 
no opportunity to speak with her . 

Early on the next day the whole house was astir, for the 
family were going by an early train to Philadelphia ; the 
servants had all obtained permission to spend the day 
abroad as they might please, and Hanna was to take her 
departure. The carriage containing Colonel Dangerfield, 
Helen, and Adelaide stood waiting for Edgar, who was 
passing through the hall toward the door when the waiting- 
maid stepped out from the library and stood before him. 

“ You here?” cried Edgar, for she was supposed to have 
left the house a half hour previously. 

• “Yes; you thought I was gone, did you? I know the 
others thought they were rid forever of crazy Hanna 
Dexter, but I think you might have known better, Edgar.” 

She stood before him, thin, pale, dressed in clinging, close- 
fitting garments of dead black ; her veil was thrown back 
and her face was raised defiantly to his — that face once so 
pretty, now scarred and disfigured; and although Edgar 
had up to that moment hoped against hope that he was 
mistaken, he knew now past all doubt that it was his wife 
who spoke to him. 

He was as pale as herself, and trembling so that he could 
with difficulty speak. 

“Elisel” he said, with ashen, tremulous lips. 

“Yes, Elise, your wife,” returned the girl, sternly. 

“I thought you were dead,” he said, in a low, stricken 
voice. “ You loved me once, Elise, have pity on me.” 

Her eyes softened, and looked at him tenderly, through a 
mist of tears. 

“Be just to me, then,” she murmured, “and I will pity 
you.” 

“What must I do?” he asked, in the gentle, tender voice 
that used to melt her girlish, loving heart : and it was not 


136 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 

powerless now, particularly when he continued humbly: 
“ You know that I must do whatever you say.” 

‘ ‘ Then you must stay here, with me : I am your wife, and 
this is my home.” 

“ That is impossible, now, Elise. They are waiting for me 
to drive them to the station, and there is no time to spare, 
either.” 

“Colonel Dangerfield can drive them.” 

“My father never drives ; and besides, they are waiting 
for me, my sister and my — ” 

‘ ‘ And Miss Urquhuart, ” Elise interrupted. ‘ ‘ Yes, I know ; 
but Colonel Dangerfield must consent to drive them this 
time.” 

“ Miss Urquhuart,” repeated Edgar, and the flush of anger 
arose to his cheek and brow. 

“Miss Adelaide Urquhuart,” returned Elise, quietly, 
while she looked steadily in his face. “Your cousin, 
Edgar.” 

Edgar Dangerfield bit his lips with rage, and felt that he 
would like to kill her ; but he felt himself hopelessly in her 
power, and dared not say a word. There was a quiet de. 
termination in her manner that mastered him. Till he re- 
gained possession of the marriage certificate and destroyed 
it, or forever placed Adelaide beyond her reach, he knew 
that he dared not cross the wishes of the woman now re- 
garding him with cold and determined gaze. 

“ As you say, they are waiting for you, Edgar, and there 
is no time to lose,” continued Elise. “ Shall I tell them to 
drive on without you, lest they miss the train?” 

“No, I will tell them!” and with a sudden determination, 
Edgar hurried from the house out to the carriage. 

“ Father,” he said, “ you will be kind enough to drive the 
girls over, and take care of them till I come on. I will fol- 
low on the next train. I have, till this moment, neglected 
something that must be attended to, and I cannot go on 
this train.” 

“ But, Edgar, you must !” declared Adelaide, not accus- 
tomed to be disappointed. “Do you suppose I care to go 
without you? I will wait, too!” 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


137 


“That’s impossible,” returned Edgar, curtly. “I don't 
wish it ; and I tell you I will follow in the next train.” 

“Oh, very well!” exclaimed Adelaide, flushing with 
anger and mortification; and she turned away much 
offended. 

Edgar caught her hand, and passionately pressed it to his 
lips. 

“You must not be angry with me, my own,” he whis- 
pered. “ I will explain fully when we meet — indeed, I can- 
not now, and there isn’t time.” 

Adelaide made no answer. She said to Colonel Danger- 
field: 

“Drive on, uncle, please — since we are ordered to go.” 

Edgar stood looking after them till they were out of sight, 
and never since he had ceased to love Elise did he hate her 
with such bitter and unrelenting hatred as he felt for her 
at that moment. 

He was in no hurry to return to the house, where Elise 
awaited him, standing a little back from the window in the 
shadow of the heavy curtains. 

He walked around it, and about the grounds, with no 
thought of escaping her ; for he knew the interview was in- 
evitable. But he wished to shape his ideas into form, and 
fix on some plan for bringing the interview to a conclusion 
favorable for himself. 

What he most wished was to learn whether she still had 
the certificate, or whether she had already sent it to Mc- 
Grath. 

As he wandered around the house he sent off, with 
angry threats, many boys from the village who were ex- 
ploding fire-crackers in close proximity to the building — as, 
indeed, they had been doing from an early hour of the 
morning ; but in the anxiety and preoccupation of his mind 
he failed to notice that a bundle of sticks and rubbish close 
to the house were already smoking and smouldering, ready 
at any moment to burst into a blaze. 

With a deep and troubled sigh— for his grief was none 
the less deep that he had brought it upon himself— he en- 
tered the house at last, and found Elise patiently waiting 
for him. 


138 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


He had in his mind the rough idea of a certain plan he 
had decided to act upon ; but his repugnance to the woman 
whom he was forced to remember was his wife, made it 
very difficult to carry it out with any ^prospect of success. 

“Elise,” he said, sitting down beside her, and taking her 
hand in his, “ is your heart very hard toward me? Try, for 
a moment, to put yourself in my place, and remember that 
all I have done, which must seem so heartless to you, w^as 
done under the impression that you were dead.” 

“ And you were not sorry to believe that I was dead, Ed- 
gar?” but despite her utmost efforts she could not speak in a 
firm tone, for the soft clasp of his hand holding hers thrill- 
ed every pulse in her body. 

“Oh, Elise, don’t be unjust and cruel 1” said Edgar. 

It was all that he could bring himself to say in protesta- 
tion against the accusation of her words, although he recog- 
nized to the fullest extent the peril of his own position, and 
the necessity of saying whatever he could say to soften the 
bitterness of her feelings toward him. But his whole heart 
and mind were full of Adelaide— he could not even make an 
attempt at feigning love for another. 

“ But you did love me once, Edgar,” said Elise, to whom 
his words, cold as they were, seemed tender ; and who thrill- 
ed at the very sound of his voice. 

“You know that I loved you, Elise, you know well^that 
I loved you ; and that night when I returned and found your 
little home in flames, and saw the woman whom I believed 
to be yourself swallowed up in them, the sight nearly killed 
me.” 

There Edgar was more successful than he had yet been ; 
and he drew a picture, partly from memory, partly from 
imagination, of his despair for the supposed loss of Elise 
that brought tears of joy to the girl’s eyes and melted the 
heart within her breast. She turned and threw herself 
weeping on his bosom, and clasped her arms around his 
neck. 

“You did care, Edgar, when you thought I was killed— 
oh ! bless you, my darling, for that— I can forgive you for 
everything now.” 

With a sudden impulse of compassion, one of those kindly 


TEE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 1S9 

impulses which often moved him for a moment, Edgar 
stooped and kissed her eyes — the one feature of her face 
that was still lovely, and the gentle, loving expression of 
which at that moment might easily have made less lovely 
eyes look beautiful. 

Elise uttered a cry of joy almost piercing in its keen de- 
light. 

“ Kiss me, Edgar,” she cried, “my darling — my husband, 
kiss me again,” and wreathing her arms about his neck, 
she covered his face with a rain of kisses. It seemed to 
lift a weight from her heart, and gave to her countenance a 
radiant expression which half obliterated its disfiguring 
scars. 

Edgar was almost touched by it, so nearly so, indeed, 
that it lent a momentary sincerity to his manner. He 
petted and soothed her; he reverted to the days of their 
first acquaintance and courtship; he ignored all that had 
passed since then. He hoped to lead Elise on to speak of 
herself, to win from her some allusion to the marriage cer- 
tificate and to learn its whereabouts; but he found her 
nature changed. The childlike confidence with which she 
would once have told him everything was gone forever; at 
the first faint allusion to that paper for which she had 
periled everything, she froze instantly, and her face took 
a hard and stony look. The time was passing rapidly; 
already a couple of hours were gone, and Edgar had 
missed the next train following that on which the others 
had gone to Philadelphia, and yet he had gained nothing 
by his delay — except temporarily separating Elise and 
Adelaide. He began to realize that he must come down 
to plain, distinct questions and answers in regard to what 
he wished to find out. 

“You have our marriage certificate, Elise?” he asked. 
“ I kept it safe— but you have stolen it — did you think I 
would have refused it to you once I knew that you lived?” 

“ Yes, I did, Edgar — forgive me if I wronged you; but I 
thought I had good reason to doubt you. And as for steal- 
ing — it was not stealing to take my own; and if it had 
been, you set me the example.” 

“Do not let us waste time in bickering,” said Edgc.r, 


140 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


sorely perplexed, and with difficulty keeping his temper. 
“ Say, at least, that you have it safe.” 

“ I have it safe, and where you will never again gain pos- 
session of it,” returned Elise, her short-lived confidence and 
joy beginning to fade before the expression of Edgar’s face ; 
and much of her former coldness and suspicion returning. 

“ What do you mean?” cried Edgar; “you have not sent 
it to McGrath, have you?” 

“And what if I have?” retorted Elise. “I might well 
wish it in a place of safety.” 

“ What if you have? — only this, madam, that I will never 
forgive you— could you not trust to my honor? Do you 
think I will be compelled to receive you as my wife? You 
fool — do you not know that no law can compel me to live 
with you? The world is wide, and I will go to the utmost 
extremity of it rather than stay where you can find me.” 

“You cannot take her,” cried Elise, “she will not go — 
she is too proud a woman for that ; and she will hate and 
loathe you when she knows all — ■ — ” 

“But she never shall know it — she will go as my wife — 
she will go to-morrow, before your mad ravings can reach 
her, and so I wish you joy of your maneuvering, Mrs. 
Dangerfield, and much pleasure may you have in that 
empty title, for it is all that ever you will have,” and 
shaking her clinging hands from his arm, Edgar turned to 
the door and seized the handle. 

Elise flung herself before him. 

‘ ‘ No — no, Edgar !” she screamed, in piercing tones. “ You 
shall not go — you shall not leave me for her — oh, speak to 
me — speak to me, darling — say you don’t love her, say that 
you care for me, a little — only such a little, Edgar, I will do 
anything, I will promise anything, only say that you don’t 
love that woman, and that you do love me!” 

“I do not love you,” returned Edgar, desperately, push- 
ing her aside, and striving to open the door ; but it would 
not yield to his hand, for Elise had locked it, and the key 
was now in her pocket. “ I hate you, do you hear? I hate 
you, and I love her you would like to separate me from— I 
love her to mad idolatry.” 


TBM CURSE OF DAN0ERF1ELD. 14 1 

Elise gave a wild cry, and pressed her hands to her ears, 
as if she would shut out the sound. 

Edgar, finding he could not open the door, went toward 
the window from which it was easy to leap out into the 
garden, but the sight which met his eyes caused him to 
fall back in dismay. 

The whole side of the house was on fire,' and already 
tongues of flame were rushing in by the window. During 
their preoccupation and the subsequent excitement of their 
conversation, the fire had caught the house, and made such 
headway that more than half the lower part of Dangerfield 
mansion was in flames. Elise didn’t even see it. She pur- 
sued Edgar, as he rushed again to the door, crying to him 
like a mad woman : 

‘ ‘ Don’t leave me, Edgar, don't leave me to go to her— I 
will give up the certificate — I won’t say I’m your wife — I 
will do anything you say, only don’t leave me to go to her 
— I have it here — I didn’t send it away at all — I will give it 
to you, darling !” 

But Edgar was too mueh alarmed by the new and im- 
minent danger to which he found himself exposed to heed 
or even hear her wild words. 

“Where is the key?” she shouted again and again. 

Elise only answered with entreaties that he would not 
leave her. 

“ Then I must make a rush for it,” said Edgar, once more 
approaching the window, which was now surrounded by 
flame, that scorched his face and hair when he approached 
it. ‘ 1 As for you, stay and be burned, as you ought to have 
been.” 

He leaped on to a high chair, at the risk of a scorching, 
for a flying spring through the flaming window into the 
garden beneath. But Elise flung herself before him, and 
clung to his knees, till with a furious imprecation, he thrust 
her from him, sending her half-way across the room. The 
impetus of the movement caused him to lose his balance, 
and before he could regain it there was a shock and the 
roar as of a hundred cannon exploded all around them ; and 
in the next moment, Dangerfield mansion, with all it con- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


142 

tained, was blown into the air, and scattered for many 
hundred yards round about. 

The fire had reached the cellar, burning well underneath 
the house at first, and a spark having fallen into the hogs- 
head of gunpowder concealed in the secret passage, for 
some long forgotten and unknown purpose, had served to 
work out the curse pronounced by the enemy of Dangerfield 
century ago. 


CHAPTER XX. 

4 ‘SO MUCH FOR DREAMS.” 

Adelaide had little enjoyment in her Fourth of July 
trip to Philadelphia. Hour after hour passed, and still 
Edgar did not come; they took an open carriage and drove 
about the city, but the heat was almost beyond endurance, 
and the crowd was immense, so they soon gave that up, 
and returned to their hotel. As the day wore away both 
Helen and her father shared Adelaide’s disturbance at 
Edgar’s non-appearance; but none of them were positively 
alarmed, for it seemed absurd to suppose that any accident 
could have happened to him. Adelaide was alternately 
indignant and distressed because Edgar did not come ; the 
subject was not one minute out of her thoughts all day, 
and her mind being full of that and of his strange manner 
for the past few days, her thoughts naturally mixed them- 
selves up with the effect produced in him by the change in 
her waiting-maid’s appearance. The girl’s face haunted 
her, and the sound of her voice kept ringing in her ears ; 
she could not rid herself of the idea that Edgar’s moodiness 
was in some way connected with Hanna Dexter’s presence 
in the house. What was it?— what could it mean?— and 
where had she seen that young woman and heard her voice 
before? — she was so tormented with the half remembrance 
which she could not make clear to herself, that she was 
nearly wild because of it. 

“It is too bad,” said Helen, late that night, while the 
two ladies sat together at an upper window, watching 
the illuminations and fireworks. 

“Nothing can excuse this on Edgar’s part.” 


148 


THE CURSE OF DANGER FIELD. 

‘‘But I am really alarmed, Helen,” said Adelaide, “I 
feel that some accident has happened to Edgar.” 

“Now don’t imagine such things, dear, ’’said Helen, much 
more cheerfully than she really felt. “You know, Adelaide, 
you are always having presentiments and dreams, and 
nothing ever comes of them. ” 

Adelaide started up with a cry, her face the picture of 
alarm. 

“My dream — my dream!” she cried, in a piercing voice. 
“ Oh, why couldn’t I have remembered sooner? The face in 
my dream was Hanna Dexter’s face ! I recognized it from 
the first, but I could not remember where I had seen it. 
My dream was a warning; I was mad to disregard it, and 
oh, what a fool that I could not remember sooner ! ” 

“Adelaide, for Heaven’s sake, be sensible,” interrupted 
Helen, “the woman in your dream called herself Edgar’s 
wife ” 

“And how do I know she wasn’t? There was something 
between them — her strange manner of late — Edgar’s extra- 
ordinary aversion to her, and anxiety that I should dismiss 
her, and now his non-appearance. There is some mystery 
here, Helen, and that woman is at the bottom of it, believe 
me.” 

“Many women were in love with Edgar, Adelaide— 
women of all positions — this may have been some girl who 
was mad enough to fall in love with him and follow him to 
his home. It is possible ” 

“ I am going home this minute,” announced Adelaide. 

“That is impossible, dear — there is no train now till 
morning.” 

And until morning they sat by the window, occasionally 
exchanging a brief remark, but each too much absorbed in 
her own thoughts for anything like connected conversation. 

By the first train the two unhappy girls, accompanied by 
Colonel Dangerfield, returned to the home they had left on 
the previous morning in such different spirits.” 

“Why do people look at us so? ” said Adelaide, when they 
left the cars at Dangerfield station. “I know something 
terrible has happened.” 

They found their carriage still at the livery stable where 


144 


THE CURSE OF DANOERFIELD. 


they had left it, for the coachman had not come, as he had 
been ordered : and with a heart filled with forebodings 
Colonel Dangerfield handed the ladies into the carriage, and 
took his place to drive them home. 

They saw the ruins of their home from a far distance, but 
they drove resolutely on, hoping there was nothing worse 
to mourn than loss of property. 

Dangerfield mansion lay a smoldering heap of charred 
wood and ashes ; and several of the servants who had but 
that moment returned from their festivities of the day be- 
fore, stood about helplessly weeping and wringing their 
hands. At sight of the bereaved family their lamentations 
redoubled, and it was some time before Colonel Dangerfield 
learned the full extent of his calamity. 

At last a rough but kindly neighbor said, in a low voice: 

“ Your son’s body lies in my house, sir — we have cared 
for it as well as we could.” 

Colonel Dangerfield’s head dropped upon his breast, and 
he will never raise it again in the old, proud manner pecu- 
liar to him. 

Adelaide caught the words, and shrieked out in a voice 
of agony : 

“He is dead — my Edgar is dead!” 

Helen dropped in a faint, without a word or moan ; but 
Adelaide seemed to have gone mad. She rent her garments 
and tore her hair, beating her breast and crying aloud : 

“ parted from him in anger — oh, why was I so cold? 
He kissed me and I would not look at him! Wretch that 
I am, what shall I do? I can never ask him now to forgive 
me !” 

It was all the women could do to quiet her and keep her 
from doing herself some bodily harm ; and when she saw 
the dead body of the man she still called her husband, the 
scene was still worse. The body of Elise had been found a 
couple of hundred feet distant from that of Edgar; and 
neither were burned nor mutilated. The shock from the 
explosion and the fall had apparently caused instant death. 

On the following day, after both bodies had been prepared 
for the grave, the woman who had dressed the body of Elise 
came to Adelaide and told her of the finding of the late wait- 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


145 


ing-maid, dead, and suddenly killed at the same time with 
Edgar Dangerfield. 

“This paper I found on the young woman, ma’am; and 
this book in her pocket. I don’t know what they be, for I 
can’t read, an’ I wouldn’t show ’em to anyone till you had 
seen ’em first, ma’am.” 

Adelaide thanked the woman and rewarded her for her 
care ; and took the paper and the book. 

With a strange thrill of apprehension, she examined them 
both as soon as she was left alone. 

The paper was the marriage certificate of Elise Morel 
and Edgar Dangerfield. 

The book was called “ Hanna Dexter’s Journal.” 

When Adelaide had finished reading them, she seemed 
turned to marble. She carried them to Colonel Dangerfield, 
and their interview was long and painful. The immediate 
result was that Mrs. Dangerfield’s husband and Mrs. Dan- 
gerfield’s maid were buried side by side. The public was 
much scandalized by this act ; and still more so by Mrs. 
Dangerfield’s premptory refusal to attend her husband’s 
funeral. 

[THE END.l 


; 








I 


/ 


146 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD . 


MY REBELLION. 


CHAPTER I. 

It was the proverbial last straw that caused it. And a 
straw, to my way of thinking, of very formidable dimen- 
sions. 

“ Alfred,” my uncle had said, “ just step into my private 
office a minute. I desire seriously to speak with you. 
Thank you. Now we are quite to ourselves. Have you 
ever thought of getting married!” 

The unusual question was startling ; the studiously suave 
manner perplexed me; but the question, like an electric 
shock, paralysed my limbs and my power of utterance. I 
simply stood and gasped. I dare say to a spectator my be- 
wilderment would have seemed not a little ridiculous. But 
I could not help it. 

“Have you ever thought of marrying?” my uncle re- 
peated with the slightest possible tinge of impatience in his 
tone. 

It was incumbent upon me to reply. However blank my 
ignorance of what was intended by the inquisition, I must 
find words in which to answer. 

Now, in itself, the problem was not a difficult one. Where 
is the young man who has attained the matured wisdom of 
three-and-twenty years without dreams of love — and of love 
centered in a home — repeatedly crossing his horizon? But 
if I committed myself to only a monosyllabic affirmative, 
I might be pressed further. 

I had a secret, in common with one of the sweetest and 
loveliest maidens of my Trelford home, that no strategy 
should at this stage unveil to the calculating ears of Josiah 
Sutton. So I took refuge in an evasion. 

“I expect I’m pretty much like the rest, sir,” I said. 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD 


147 


11 Ideas are bound to come, whether any heed is paid to 
them or not.” 

“ Just so,” the old man answered; “ and in this case I’ve 
got an idea to give you which you’ll certainly find it to 
your advantage to accept. As matters stand, it is time 
you had a wife. I’ve found one for you.” 

Again I was stunned into temporary silence. Was I to 
be at my relative’s mercy in the most momentous contract 
of any man’s life? Did duty bid me to marry whom he 
pleased, and to give up Dorothy Field? 

The latter thought sent back the blood in a wild current 
to my whitened cheeks, and made my pulses beat fast and 
furious — I could hear them, like smothered drums. It sup- 
plied me with resolution. 

“ I am afraid, sir, I shall not be able to consent,” I stam- 
mered. 

“Why, have you any romantic objections to entering 
the ‘ holy estate,’ as the parsons term it?” 

The sneer in his speech deepened into a scowl upon his 
countenance. 

“ No — o, but there is an obstacle.” 

“Some boy and girl attachment, perhaps. Don’t be a fool 
over this business, my lad. The making of hasty vows 
often leads to a repentance more leisurely than comfort- 
able. It’s all rubbish, every syllable of jargon the novelists 
and rhymesters talk about love in a cottage, and so forth. 
Try to bring up a family on a hundred a year and you'll 
know it. Don't you go and believe them, and toss over- 
board a fortune for the sake of a pretty face and a musical 
voice. Let your vision extend to the tins of Australian 
mutton. If some Brentport damsel has betwitched you, 
take my advice and cut her adrift.” 

He leaned across his desk as he concluded, and looked 
me straight in the eyes. He seemed proud of his unwonted 
flow of eloquence, and evidently considered it convincing. 
He was quickly undeceived. 

“ I cannot turn traitor so easily, sir,” I replied hotly. 

It was useless to deny his leading accusation, and unne- 
cessary to enlighten him as to how wide of the mark had 
been his guess of locality. 


148 


TEE CURSE OF DAN GERFIELD. 


The old autocrat’s brows grew blacker than I ever remem- 
bered to have seen them. His clenched fist rose and fell 
on the blotting-pad as though it were my head he was ham- 
mering and wisdom were difficult of insertion in any milder 
fashion. 

“If you can be obstinate, so can I,” he said; “I’ll allow 
you till to-morrow morning to think matters over. If then 
you decline to come to terms, to fall in with the proposals 
I intended to make, our bargain is at an end. You may 
wed your Joan and go to Hanover with her for all I care.” 

He turned to his Gazette , and thus abruptly closed the in- 
terview. I went back into the counting-house with feelings 
of anger, doubt, and dread struggling within my breast. 

My brain was so bewildered that the columns of figures 
I had previously been checking danced on the light-blue 
page, and might have been Egyptian hieroglyphics for all 
the coherence they possessed. 

Yet I detected shuffling footsteps down the passage, and 
from the smirk on Philip Renbow’s face was confident that 
the senior clerk had been a clandestine listener to every 
word. 

By a rupture between my uncle and me he would probably 
be the chief gainer. I almost hated him for his hardly sup- 
pressed glee. 

A troublesome decision lay before me now. Pain in any 
case I must suffer ; pain in one event I must inflict. 

Josiah Sutton was the single rich man of our family; 
and, occupying that high position of honor, aspired to be 
the dictator of all beneath him. I am bound to add that 
the sycophancy of those who cast longing eyes upon his 
wealth did much to foster his tyranny. I was the son 
of one of his poorest sisters, and had been adopted when I 
left school in an impulse of sudden charity. For years it 
had been tacitly understood that I was to inherit his busi- 
ness, and at least a considerable share of his capital. Over 
me he had quarrelled with his brothers, and had strnck the 
pair of them out of his will. All the years I had lived 
with him the yoke of a strict obedience had been enforced. 
His will had been my law indoors and out, in our social re- 
lations, in the domestic arrangements, in the routine of the 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


149 


counting-house. Many times submission had sadly galled 
my unruly spirit. But messages from Trelford had con- 
sistently urged it upon me and for my mother’s sake I 
yielded. Now, a crisis of far different nature had arrived. 
The future happiness of two hearts was at stake. 

“Well, Alfred, what resolution have you arrived at?’’ 
asked my uncle at the breakfast-table next morning. I could 
see by his manner that he expected surrender, as of yore. 

“ I have not been able to alter, sir,” I replied, huskily. A 
tremor was at my heart which caused the spoon I held to 
clatter wildly against the empty coffee-cup. 

The dreaded sternness came back. The lines of his lips 
hardened, and his words slipped from between them with a 
crisp, deliberate utterance, like the telling out of coin. 

“You are fully aware what that statement implies?” 

“That I am to leave, I think you said.” 

“Yes,” in a voice of thunder, with a sardonic chuckle at 
the end, ‘ c as soon as you like, or probably a great deal sooner. 
Make your own way in the world, my fine fellow ! Experi- 
ence will teach you.” 

“I am sorry, uncle ” I commenced. 

He cut my attempted and painfully rehearsed exculpation 
woefully short. He rose from his chair. 

“ That is quite enough,” he said; “ you have chosen your 
own path and must walk in it. No maudlin sentimental- 
ism will 'be of the least use. I can’t waste time by listen- 
ing to it.” 

An hour later I was sent on an errand to the post-office, 
and in my haste and preoccupation I ran full tilt against 
Mr. Frank Gowing, the chief partner of the house imme- 
diately adjoining my uncle’s. Josiah Sutton & Co. (the 
Co. having been a phantom for years), and Gowing and 
Gowing, were the two largest shipping firms in all Brent- 
port. 

“ Whatever’s amiss, lad? Surely such a trivial accident 
as this hasn’t made you like a chalked board?” 

Was I so pale? I wondered. 

“ I’m dismissed, sir,” I answered. 

“Eh? Nothing wrong, I hope?” 

“No, sir ; not in the sense you mean,” and then, somehow, 


150 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


I found myself telling the whole story. It was lucky for 
me that I did tell it. 

The kind-hearted old merchant just pursed his lips to- 
gether, and emitted a significant “ Whew!” 

“ Then you’ll be wanting employment?” he said. 

“ Very shortly, sir.” 

“If Mr. Sutton doesn’t relent.” 

“ There’s no chance of that.” 

“ I’m afraid not, at present. We’re a clerk short. Will 
you join our staff, Taylor?” 

Light had come into my darkness much sooner than I ex- 
pected. I assented with a really cheerful alacrity, and 
with many thanks. 


CHAPTER II. 

I was soon busy in my new quarters, and found the work 
at least as light as it had been with my uncle. I suited 
too, and quickly slipped into a position of confidence. Per- 
haps the romance of the episode appealed to some fellow- 
feeling in Mr. Prank Gowing’s heart, and as he favored me 
I rose, and the dream of an alliance with Dorothy Field be- 
gan to take more and more definite shape. 

It was the beginning of June, and the classic race at Ep- 
som had just been run. I was no sportsman, and never risk- 
ed a guinea upon horseflesh in my life. But several amongst 
my acquaintances did, and as this year the blue ribbon had 
come in possession of a rank outsider, these were badly bit- 
ten. I condoled with one, Edward Quelch, as dexterously 
as I knew how. 

“Bah! yours is fair-weather philosophy — there’s a lot of 
that knocking about in the world,” he replied with a wry 
grimace ; “if your elegant phrasing concerning the ‘ fortune 
of war,’ would only put back the gold into my purse it’d be 
more to the purpose. Never mind, if rumor tells the truth 
for once, your old office chum has got it half-a-dozen times 
as hot.” 

“What, Philip Renbow!” I ejaculated. 

“ Yes; did you think he was as innocent as he looks? You 
should have recollected the proverb, ‘ ’Tis the demure cat 
that steals the cream.’ ” 


THE CURSE OF DANGER FIELD. 


151 


In truth, I was less surprised than possibly my manner 
seemed to show. A sinister report or two had reached my 
ears before. But how astonished and dismayed my uncle 
would be by the receipt of such intelligence! He had a 
blind unreasoning faith in the steadiness and respectability 
of his senior clerk. He would almost as soon have suspect- 
ed himself of “ plunging,” as Philip Renbow. 

“What has he lost? Do you know the figure?” I en- 
quired. 

“Over five hundred, I heard. He backed the second 
favorite very heavily on supposed private information — a 
dreadful sell for the lot of us.” 

“How on earth will he be able to pay?” 

“Can’t imagine. I’m told he was in Queer-street be- 
fore.” 

“Very likely. He borrowed a five-pound note of me 
once.” 

“ He’ll borrow of his master now, perhaps.” 

I smiled. The idea of staid Josiah Sutton helping any- 
body out of turf difficulties was absurd. 

“He’d bepuzzled to manage that, I expect.” 

All that afternoon the story to which I had listened haunt- 
ed me. In the intervals of counting-house routine the ques- 
tion continually recurred. How would Philip Renbow meet 
his so-called “debts of honor?” And another question also: 
If the disclosure came, would my uncle dismiss him? 

Business was at that season very pressing with Gowing 
and Gowing, and Mr. Frank had once or twice asked me to 
stay and continue work in his private room during part of 
the evening. As I was well paid for any such extra tasks I 
did not mind at all. I was left to myself — to lock up at 
the end of the sitting, and take the key indoors. On this 
occasion I was specially invited to linger, and readily con- 
sented. $ 

I had a huge sheaf of letters and orders to endorse, and 
to index, and it was late before the last was reached. 

Then, with a sigh of relief, I closed my desk and turned 
down the gas. As usual I went to the window to see that 
the fastenings were safe. There, I was riveted to the spot 
by sheer consternation, 


152 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


The narrow, dust-begrimed casement overlooked one cor- 
ner of my uncle’s counting-house ; and, to my surprise, gas 
was burning there too. In all my experience of that office 
I had never known a light used on a summer’s evening. 
What could it portend ! Wherein could lie the unwonted 
cause? 

I stood beside the half-drawn blind and watched. For 
some moments I could detect no movement of any sort in 
the apartment ; and if the blaze had wavered at all, or had 
appeared intermittent, I should have thought of fire. But 
as my eyes gradually became accustomed to the interven- 
ing glass I could plainly make out a shadow swaying to 
and fro between the desks. 

The form answerable for that shadow must be engaged in 
the corner occupied by the old merchant’s safe. From the 
position of the gas and of the indistinct outline I could eas- 
ily prove that. 

If it should be merely Josiah Sutton assuring himself at 
this abnormally advanced hour of the security of some par- 
ticular bonds or documents, all might be right. If not, I 
was convinced treachery was at work. 

At last the mysterious visitant to my uncle’s office crossed 
the limited area open to my view ; and I recognized Philip 
Renbow. He held in his hand what my quickened senses 
determined to be a file. 

My gravest suspicions were at once confirmed. I was the 
accidental spectator of a crime. The ruined gambler was 
in very truth toiling hard and risking much, in order to 
meet his deficit with his employer’s money. No doubt he 
calculated on his years of approved service, and on the un. 
hesitating confidence so long reposed in him, to ward off 
the faintest vapor of suspicion. If he could only get fairly 
away with the spoil all would be well. And this, in a very 
few minutes, he would do, if no interference came. If he 
was to be checkmated action must be taken instantly. 

Necessity is a wonderful sharpener of wits, and my brain 
had soon conceived a plan. The room I was now standing 
in, and my uncle’s counting-house, both looked out on a 
tiny court-yard, at right angles to the thoroughfare. It was 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 153 

this fact that probably gave the thief some sense of leisure 
and security in his scandalous undertaking. 

He knew that from the road he would be unobserved. It 
also supplied me with a ready resource. I could slip round 
to my uncle’s front door and alarm him without disturbing 
Renbow. I should have to find my way through Mr. Gow- 
ing’s house, and might provoke comment, but after-explan- 
ation would be easy and my excuse undeniable. 

This was the course I adopted. I made no pretence of 
even waiting to give up my key. I believe I actually flew 
down those flights of stairs and along those passages. I 
knew my uncle sat late, and hoped to find him up. I was 
not disappointed. 

‘ ‘ Why, Alfred Taylor, whatever — what do you mean by 
this invasion, sir?” the old man asked, too bewildered to 
find coherent words; and he rose to his feet and eyed the 
poker as though he feared I might be mad and meditating 
assault. 

“ You are being robbed, sir,” I gasped. 

That dispelled for the time both his tremor and his ris- 
ing indignation. He became once more the alert, collected 
man of business. 

“How? In the office or in the house? Explain,” he 
said. 

“A burglar is at this moment in your counting-house, 
sir. I saw him from Mr. Gowing’s private room.” 

Josiah Sutton meditated a moment. 

“ You have not alarmed the villain?” 

“No, sir.” 

I held my peace as to the scoundrel’s identity. 

“ The Union Jack Inn, at the corner, is still open. Run 
up there and get assistance. We’ll take the gentleman, 
booty and all.” 

I obeyed, and returned with half-a-dozen men. 

We hemmed in our victim in the most systematic fashion 
that could possibly have been devised. No single avenue 
of escape remained, and then my uncle insisted on leading 
the way. 

“ If there’s any danger it shall fall to my share,” he said. 
I honored him for his bravery. 


154 


THE CURSE OF DANGERFIELD. 


But there was no resistance. Never did I see a guilty 
•wretch look more corpse-like, or cower into more abject 
paroxysms of terror. 

“Philip Renbow!” cried my uncle, in tones of stern sur- 
prise. “ You of all men! After this I’ll trust nobody.” 

But he did. For, at the conclusion of the trial that re- 
mitted his sometime senior clerk to the courtesies of prison 
warders for a couple of years, he called me aside. 

“ My lad,” he said, “you have saved me at any rate a 
thousand pounds in hard cash, and I ought to repay you. 
Come back and take Renbow’s place. Things shall be — as 
you like them, even if, you won’t marry Miss Dorothy 
Field.” 

‘ ‘ Miss Dorothy Field !” I echoed. 

“ Aye,” with a touch of the old sharpness; “who else do 
you suppose I meant you to wed?” 

It was evident now that a game of cross-purposes had 
most unwittingly been played. 

“Why, uncle,” I answered, “Dorothy and I have been 
engaged— only it was a secret — for fifteen months or 
more.” 

The old shipowner first stared, then mopped his face with 
his bandana handkerchief (it was a hot July), then burst 
into the’ heartiest and most prolonged guffaw of, surely, his 
whole life. 

And that was the end of my rebellion. 

' [THE end.] 





A GREAT FAMILY PAPER. 


o 

We are glad to announce to the readers of Munro’s Library, 
that the New York Family Story Paper is spoken of in at 
least five hundred thousand homes in America as “ A Great 
Family Paper.” The circulation of the New York Family Story 
Paper is over half a million (500,000) copies. 

Why has the Family Story Paper taken the place of its com- 
petitors? 

First. — Because it is in every sense a family paper. 

Second. — Because the continued stories are adapted to the 
readers. 

Third — Because the best authors in the land write for it. 

Fourth. — Because it contains a number of charming short 
stories. 

Fifth. — Because the type is clear, bold, handsome and read- 
able. 

Sixth — Because it contains a great variety of choice mat- 
ter. 

Seventh. — Because it never admitted a dull line in its col- 
umns. 

Eighth. — Because it is independent and without advertise, 
ments. 

Ninth. — Because it is pleasing to heads of families. 

Tenth and last. — Because we intended that we should take 
the lead, and that we have accomplished. 

The New York Family Story Paper is sold on every news 
stand in the United States and Canada. The publishers employ 
no agents. If there are no news dealers in remote places, the 
paper will be sent to any address free of postage for one year 
for $3.00. Send for a sample copy. Address 

New York Family Story Paper, 

24 & 26 Yande water St., N, Y» 



Published in Munro’s Library, 

o— 

No. 

L *• A Dreadful Temptation.” Unquestionably one of the most thrill 
ing and powerful romances of the day. Should be read by young and 

2. “The Bride of The Tomb.” A tale of mystery, love and revenge. 

Every chapter is replete with glowing description and interest 

3. “ An Old Man’s Darling.” Never was a story written better suited 

to secure the attention or the reader from first to last 

4. '• Qneenie’s Terrible Secret.” A great novel for young girls. The 

heroine is as naturally portrayed as though she were a living being 

5. *- Jaquellna.” The interesting feature of this work is the wild, excit- 

ing scenes which are so skillfully mingled with peaceful home life 

C. “Little Golden’s Daughter.” A story of surpassing pathos and 
delicacy. One well suited to charm all classes ... 

,? “ The Rose and The Lilv.” A jealous woman makes this story one 
of absorbing interest. Each chapter is strong and cleverly constructed 

R. “ Countess Vera.” This gifted authoress probably never wrote a bet- 

ter story. The opportunity of reading it should not be missed . 

S. “Bonnie Dora.” A veritable picture drawn from life. A romance 

fascinating to its latest word ..... 

30l “ Guy Kenmore’s Wife.” The only fault to be found with this story 
Is that it comes to an end. No greateqs-ecommendation can be offered 


GEORGE ELIOTS WORKS. 


11 . “Janet’s Repentance.” A simple, touching story. The keynote of 

George Eliot’s world-wide fame M 

12. “ Silas Marner.” A powerful character, conceived and portrayed by 

the leading novelist or the age - - • - - 10 

13. “Felix Holt, the Radical.” Ode of the greatest books of the day* 

replete with interest .......20 

14. “ The Mill on the Floss.” By many considered the gem of all Miss 

Eliot’s works - ....--.20 


15. “ Brother Jacob.” A pleasing story of rural life that comes home to 

every heart 10 

16. Adain Bede.” This book is no stranger, nor was its hero ever unwel- 
come at the fireside .......20 


17. “ Romo 1 a.” By all odds the most highly colored and romantic work of 

this celebrated authoress 20 


18. *• Aiiu-s Barton.” This story has ever held Its own with undiminished 

popularity 10 

19. ' Daniel Deronda.” A work of colossal genius, one to be read and 

studied ........20 

20. * Middlemarch.” Herein lies a whole world of thought. No work of 

fiction will ever surpass this book ..... 20 

21. “Mr. Gilfil’s Love Story.” A charming work;which realizes the 

promise given In its title - - . . . * 10 

22. *• The Spanish Gypsy.” The lovers of poesy will find a long and al- 

luring treat here - - - . ...20 


23. “The Impressions of Theophrastus Such.” An entertaining 

work, not to be forgotten io 

Munro’s Library is for sale by all newsdealers, or will be sent to any address, free 
Of postage, on receipt of marked price. 


jHaBox86a 


NORMAN L» MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

' 24 & 26 Vandswate& Street, 

New Yobs. 



)i" WWVP ITWV rwynr i m 


MUNRO’S LIBRARY. 


Issued in a Convenient Form for the Pocket and Satchel. 


MRS.' ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER’S WORKS. 

7 ' ■ : . ;; 

No* Cents. 

1. A Broadful Temptation 10 

2. The Bride of the Tomb 10 

3. An Old Man’s Darling 10 

4. Queenie's Terrible Secret 10 

5. Jaquelina 10 

6. Little Golden’s Daughter 10 

7. The Rose and the Lily ...10 

8. Countess Vera 10 

9 . Bonnie Dora 10 

10. Guy Kenmore’s Wife • 10 

GEOItGE ELIOT’S WORKS. 

11. Janet’s Repentance 10 

12. Silas Marner 10 

13. Felix Holt, the Radical 20 

14. The Mill on the Floss 20 

15. Brother Jacob 10 

16. Adam Bede .....20 

17. Romola 20 

18. Sad Fortunes of Rev. Amos Barton 10 

19. Daniel Deronda * 20 

20. Middlemarch 20 

21. Mr. Gilfll’s Love Story 10 

22. The Spanish Gvpsy 20 

23. Impressions or Theophrastus Such ....10 

MISCELLANEOUS WORKS. 

24. The Twr> Orphans. By D’Ennery 10 

25. Yolande. By William Black 20 

26. Lady Audlev’s Secret. By Miss Braddon 20 

27. When the Ship Comes Home. Bv Besant & Rice 10 

28. John Halifax, Gentleman. By Miss Mulock ...20 

29. In Peril of his Life By Gaborlnu 20 

30. The Romantic Adventures of a Milkmaid . .10 

81. Molly Bawn. By the Duchess .20 

32. Portia. By the Duchess 20 

33. Kit: a Memory. By James Payne 20 

34. East Lynne. By Mrs. Henry Wood 20 

35. Her Mother’s Sin. By Bertha M. Clay 10 

36. A Princess of Thule. By William Black 20 

37. Phyllis. By the Duchess 20 

38. David Copperfleld. By Charles Dickens 20 

39. Very Hard Cash. By Charles Reade 20 

40. I van hoe. Dy Sir Walter Scott 20 

41. Shirley. By Miss Bronte 20 

42. The Last Days of Pompeii 20 

43. Charlotte Temple. By Miss Rowson 

44. Dora Thorne. By Bertha M. Clay 20 

45. Old Curiosity Shop. By Charles Dickens 20 

46. Camille. By Alex. Dumas, Jr 10 

47. The Three Guardsmen. By Alex. Dumas 20 

48. Jane Eyre By Charlotte Bronte ...’.’..720 

49. Romance of a Poor Young Man. By Feuillet 10 

50. Back to the Old Home. By Mary Cecil Hay 10 


Remember that we do not charge extra for postage. Minro’s Library will be 
sent to any part of the world, single numbers for 10 cents, double numbers for 
20 cents. 

NORMAN L. MUNRO, PUBLISHER, 

24 & 26 Vande water St„ N. Y. 


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